ENGLISH IN THE SOUL
-
Awatef El Idrissi Boukhris (Morocco)
Far away from America and Britannia
In a foreign land just south of Iberia
A soul clings to a language not her own
The greatest love her heart has ever known
***
Despite the pentagram that flies so high
Old Glory and Union Jack sway in her sky
Deeply rooted in her soil like the Argan
But her branches extend into Michigan
***
Neither Brit nor Yank blood flows in her veins
Yet on English, she rides without reins
Beneath the blue sky and the palm trees
Riding against the ocean and the sea’s breeze
***
With practice, love, and care
She tries to tame her wild mare
Feeding her with Shakespeare and Milton
Whitman, Poe, Frost, and Dickinson
***
Up high in the Atlas Mountains, she rides
And across the Atlantic Ocean, she strides
Words flow in her mind like rivers
And from their beauty she shivers
***
Juggling with antonyms and synonyms
Flirting with heteronyms and homonyms
In rolling the ‘r’ and muting the ‘h’, she gets
pleasure
Mastering this art is her favourite leisure
***
Like a weaver, she stitches and knots
The strands of a fabric made of her thoughts
Of vowels and consonants, her threads are made
And of love vowed to this craft that will never
fade
***
Her sentences flow to make a splendid quilt
Mixing Moorish patterns with those of the kilt
A tapestry of cultures and identities
That knows neither boundaries nor enmities
***
English is her passport to unknown places
And her interlocutor with different races
It makes her overstep international borders
And travel the world despite the disorders
***
Building bridges of love and tolerance
That resists misunderstanding and difference
Of this foreign idiom, she sows the seeds
And prides herself on them like rare gem beads
***
Of this borrowed tongue, she makes her choice
A powerful means to raise her voice
Against all that pains her heart
As well as a tool to show her art
***
Of rhymes and rhythm, she composes a symphony
Crafting her phrases for the sake of euphony
Teasing her muse with sound and tone
Manipulating this tongue as if her own
***
Despite tripping over her words
And her foreign accent that blurs
She holds on to this foreign idiom
For expressing herself, it is the medium
***
Inside her soul, there is a fire
That fuels her burning desire
To learn about the precious treasure
This language holds without measure
***
Her heart nurtures a love pure and huge
For English, where she finds solace and refuge
It is a feeling that is strong and beyond
control
Nesting like a white dove deep inside her soul.
****