Stop the goddamn music
Just stop it.
No I don’t want to dance
My body rejects your happy beats
The lyrics don’t talk to me
Who are they made for?
My ears have been fed with generic
Western music
Bollywood
Bengali songs
And every time you play a song
My linguistic identities change.
Who the fuck am I?
In what language do I love?
Or exist?
English is too formal
A dress which I once borrowed for a day
And never returned.
Hindi is an ornament I bought for myself
Only worn on special occasions.
Bengali? It was always with me
Restricted reach, taken for granted
Nothing too special.
I’m sorry
It’s not your fault that
My ears are repulsed
By every tongue I know
Since I know not which one is mine.
They say
Learn the language of love
What the fuck is that, pray?
I’m sorry I’m angry
At myself, really
Confusion is choking me
That’s the only sound I hear.
Did you put on another song?
Thanks for holding my hand.
I used to be bored by instrumentals,
I never knew
That’s how music truly speaks.
Perhaps,
I don’t need a language anymore.
mimimusing 