Words Worn-Out Poem by Birgitta Abimbola Heikka

I love old words I heard when growing up
They are in decline these days
like rare coins in a safe locked up.

I love the sound of catarrh instead of cold
It makes the illness more earnest
I was told.

To balcony, I prefer verandah
The word fills me with visions of vines
twisting in a meander.

Old words like rain drops
playing drums on the roof tops.

Vernacular sounds more authentic
than native which sounds a little negative
Pidgin has a better ring than broken
for words half spoken

Delightful is the sound of pikin instead of baby
To sabee is to be cognizant
Bliss is not always ignorant
Dash does not mean to exit in a hurry
but to give freely

Pidgin words like musical notes from a piano sheet
elicit rapturous gasps when first heard
and have roots wide as oceans embracing continents

Words worn-out like items antique,
precious, old and valueless
remind me of an island far across the ocean
where pikins dance naked in the steaming rain.