A stutter falls onto rugged floor
A platform where blunt sounds don’t land
Amidst the soundtrack of orchestrated melodies,
Articulate speech where glances speak,
Suppress giggles, a drinking fountain leaks
a drop,
Bottled far off at source
Transported from,
Into,

Another language
In which he speaks his thoughts fluidly
No awkward pauses, long drawn
verbal excess, that pleads pardon
in hurried retreat;
They don’t interrupt, he need not
Cut to the chase,
he makes his point
Without rush, faultless, unfazed.

In a language where
The train operates
At the expected time
No word matches loss
where stations wear wordless signs,
Never alone, no baggage left behind
the way, a stretch vast, of sand brown
Each face familiar,
arriving at a close

speaks

A language
In which
Faulty trains as spoken words
Can be called back:
Exile is erased,
Life is not derailed off track