Upon learning a new language

Upon learning a new language,
one discovers - among other things
that pictures can be squares,
that sense is not always sensible
and that mothers - like the Universe - give light to new borns.

Now ensconced in the ruffling of meanings,
I realise that,
as if identity wasn't already a tricky creature pinned to a picture and a piece of card,
it becomes a looming idea
fraught with the travails of being,
becoming
and, having been,
of something thought -
fidgeting somewhere between flighty fancy
and the permanence of stone.

One discovers then,
that there are many ways of being,
many ways of seeing
and in a moment - in a word -
the act of collecting eternity and all its allusions
into a single string of sounds
played out in a melody
of beautiful syllables throbbing, alive and unbound.

(*work in progress)