Friday, 6 January 2017


In a pocket of the earth
I buried all the accents of my mother tongue

There they lie
like needles of pine
assembled by ants

one day the stumbling cry

of another wanderer
may set them alight

then warm and comforted

he will hear all night
the truth as lullaby

- John Berger, 'Migrant Words', 1980.

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