I enjoy reading English poetry
though I know the mechanics of the language barely.
I enjoy too reciting something from someone like T.S. Eliot,
but, thanks to my heavy Ethiopian accent,
I hardly pronounce the words right,
and I resist to change that
because that’s partially
what makes me Ethiopian,
neither English nor American.
The problem is let’s say I learn
to pronounce the words correctly,
someone will still say,
“hey, where are you from originally?
you speak English fluently,”
reminding me I will always be
the guy from another valley,
I will always be the outsider;
even if I do my best to fit in,
I will always remain
that bloody foreigner.
The fact is I am indeed a bloody foreigner;
however, not only to English,
but also to my own flesh.
Regardless, I am still blood and skeleton;
just like you, just like everyone.
Silly, isn’t it,
when we make a big deal, when we fight
because we talk and look different?!
Well, I have no problem embracing the fact
I am a bloody foreigner,
As you can see my English is horrible,
but I have this passion to scribble,
to express my foreign feelings,
using these foreign words.
Anyway, at the end of the day
am just a human being,
the rest might as well be nothing.
We are all foreigners,
outsiders, temporary tenants,
temporary residents, temporary guests;
we better give peace a chance!
Never make fun of someone who speaks broken English. It means they know another language. — H. Jackson Brown, Jr.
If the English language made any sense, a catastrophe would be an apostrophe with fur. — Doug Larson