How am I called to say all that I feel?
She speaks a tongue I was told not to learn.
We are the dumb and mute,
Conscious of Warmth though we cannot share in it.
You push a little candy, and a bit of fruit,
An egg, a piece of cake made with real cream,
Things you could not have when you were young,
Starved by war and parents too early leaving,
Into my hand, and gesture “Eat, eat”
In hoping to place on my tongue the sweetness
Yours cannot express
And my ears cannot receive.
So I look at you, and you at me;
Neither speaking, and neither called to speak.
Each other we now more than understand.
Bryan Cheong
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