middle-ground

my professor and i, we were both nervous about saying
general-iza-bility
can you say it one go, congratulations on pronunciation

there is a t.v. serial that makes me laugh,
i don't have to hear it twice, no innuendo i miss,
a history, a politics i do not have to grasp to learn, to reach, how can you not know this?
sometimes our teacher asks us about people with strange names
we do not raise our hands

we cannot talk about this t.v. serial in class because nobody knows
i imagine my awkward laughter at mahboob ahmed's play of words, i imagine a silent audience,
my laughter.

in fourth grade, we were handed dictionaries for
our mother tongues, we thought they were so special because
we didn't know they existed
we already had a Oxford one at home, its spine worn from use

we spoke middle tongues
safely lodged in the middle of of each language
far away from its unease, far away from its home
there is an urdu i cannot understand, there is an english i cannot speak

we're learning big words, secretly hoarding them like trophies but
presenting them like our own breath
there are new words everyday that slip from my tongue, that i have to look up
furtively, referents of language i have no image for, but i say yeah, yeah
yeah, the middle ground for yes and no, yeah

my heart pounds in happiness, anger and sadness,
grief and joy, the knock on skin, a call for words
and i give you the thing that i can speak
in emulation, in parody, in mimicry

there is a t.v. serial that makes me laugh,
it is old;
jehan aara's tongue is quick, sharp in the urdu
that i cannot speak.