In halls where voices once did blend,
Now only one tongue shall ascend.
The echoes of diverse delight,
Are silenced by a single might.
A language forged in distant lands,
Is forced upon the eager hands.
But in the shadows, whispers grow,
Of cultures lost, and hearts that know.
For every word that’s left unsaid,
A piece of heritage is dead.
The songs of old, the stories told,
Now fade beneath the corporate gold.
Where once we danced in varied tones,
Now fractured speech, and monotones.
The hues of dialects, once bright,
Are dimmed beneath this heavy light.
Yet still, the poets rise to fight,
To write in tongues, to reclaim right.
For language lives in every form,
A beating heart that breaks the norm.
So let them speak in varied speech,
No matter what the laws may preach.
For every voice, in truth, deserves
To find the path that it deserves.