A chaos of multiple languages
overloads my system,
and the blackout hits hard.
An hour is still an hour,
or is it transforming into something else?
In French, they say l’heure, so sensual
Italian ore speak in tasty sounds.
But what if I want to choose
Spanish tres horas?
I miss the Polish godzina so much
moving my mother tongue's rhythm.
I need more space in my brain
My head is so heavy,
My heart enjoys moments like
a child on a playground
Making my language smoothie
I feel chromatic delirium.
Spinning through a galaxy into a black hole.
I should have listened to my mother
telling me, Agnes, do one thing!