The difference in our language can't stop us from being friends. We know there will be spring once the snow melts away.

Then there was Spring

Written by Tanya Singh

He doesn’t understand my language, neither I his,

But we spoke a language together,

We spoke of being friends,

Through gestures, and good things,

Had then we defied philological, dialectal reasons,

And we knew history failed and language did too,

And why geography followed suit,


Our verses were not the same,

We were lost in translation but not any more than we need be,

Only gladly lost as the way soil was into the grass,

Holding the vast earth together in our hearts,

Like ten thousand lions in my garage and rainbows,

Finding the snow melting again,


Seemingly untouched and together,

Like different words on the same page that cross paths,

From a fable we both heard in separate languages,

And we knew the sentence wouldn’t make sense,

If the word was withdrawn from it, neither did we,


His words were foreign to my ears, so were mine to his,

He was not I and so were our shadows,

But his smile was the iridescent orange of the lamp,

His hands were warm enough to warm mine, we spelt differently,

Yet, we spelt sadness, happiness and friends all the more same,

The only thing we had in common,


And we both would turn to soil,


In grass, green and hopeful,

And then there was spring.


– Originally Published at Voices of Youth (


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