Lost Languages Poem by Harun Al Nasif

Once, I conversed fluently in the language of flowers,
Every butterfly's whisper a familiar melody.
I chuckled softly at the intimate conversations
of the sparrow pair, their secrets laid bare.
With ease, I deciphered
the mournful coos of doves, the cormorants' cries,
and the melodious trill of the nightingale.

Halting the ants' regimented march,
Countless dialogues unfolded.
After hearing the crickets' tales,
Many a night was spent in rapt attention.
With each dewdrop's descent,
My eyes brimmed with emotion;
Bathed in the sun's radiant smile,
My soul danced with joy.

The sky's hues spoke volumes,
The wind whispered secrets of the seasons,
Delivering messages from distant trees.
I eagerly answered the summons of the devil's tree.

The night queen's envy could not elude
My hushed conversations with the lilies,
Nestled in the courtyard's embrace.

Each gourd vine whispered its wisdom,
Teaching me the language of gentle breezes.
Luffa flowers atop the house
Guided me with precision to the playground's gate.

From the riverbank sands,
Echoes of ancient tales resonated,
Carefully tended by the murmuring stream.
Fireflies chorused under the starry sky,
The moon's azure serenade echoed,
Noon's lament resounded.
The rain's rhythmic melody—
Each note etched effortlessly in memory.

But today?
Today, they lie buried beneath the clamor
Of bricks, timber, and stone.