My response to this sparkful night is in verse
Because in verse is how the curse
Is able to disperse and the nurse
named Translator can cure
This pure and at times obscure
Words that flow free as birds

Language
You are the one to blame
And the one to thank

I blame you for not being enough
I thank you for allowing the tough
Task of communication
So diverse and converse
So great and limited
So spacious and narrow

Dear Language,
You have many last names
Sir English and Mother Spanish
From one to the other poetry goes
As a boat stranded at sea
From one to the other words flow
Sometimes losing its essence
From one to the other language grows
Sometimes losing its melody
From one to the other glows
Sparkle, dull, soft and numb
Yet always preserving its purpose

Language, altered throughout time
What a crime to be the spine of
All the vice that once sublime
And lost in the climb of a pine
Sometimes losing the prime
Desire to comply with your own shine

My response to this night is in rhyme
Because in rhyme we could
Taste the sweet lemon of words
Smell the aromatic black print
Touch the paper in tears
Hear the beat of letters
See the author’s heart