Dear Ma,
Am I a stranger now?
Or has the stranger always been me?
We come from the same roots,
Yet I feel like a leaf about to detach,
Floating on a breeze you don't recognize.
Desire is not a sin—
After years of loving in a silence
That even words cannot penetrate,
I find myself sitting alone
At the foot of your bed,
Staring at the idols of gods you pray to.
Your hands, laden with years and prayers,
Fold into devotion for gods
Who never had to come out.
I whisper love in a tongue you've always known,
Yet today, it sounds foreign to you.
Do my confessions make you falter
In a language we used to share?
Dear Ma,
I still am the son
Whose first steps you cheered,
Whose scraped knees you healed.
I still need your love
In a language I haven't forgotten.
Are you willing to speak it,
Or have we lost our mother tongue?