Not in silence do we speak,
But in rhythms the world forgot to hear—
A whisper signed beneath the cheek,
A tap, a pause, a rolling near,
The blink that builds a universe,
Where language learns to reimagine verse.
Our tongues are not confined to sound,
Nor bound by breath or vowel’s grace.
We speak through touch upon the ground,
Through wheels that mark a steady pace,
In eye-gaze locks, in gestures wide—
Each motion, meaning amplified.
You taught us words are letters penned,
But we reply in brighter script:
In Braille that climbs a raised alphabet,
In screen-voiced dreams that softly shift,
In fingers dancing, swift and bold—
ASL stories, centuries old.
We code our thoughts in different keys,
Through switches, scans, or gentle nods,
Where AAC devices speak with ease,
And syntax blooms through tailored codes.
Our grammar defies the printed line—
It lives in action, feel, design.
We are not broken sounds to fix,
No gaps for pity to rush in.
Our language is a complex mix
Of courage, culture, kin, and kin.
It shapes our truth, our joy, our fight—
A spectrum bright with inner light.
So learn our dialects, not as flaws,
But as the art of human speech reborn.
Each variation frees the laws
That once confined the voiceless, torn.
For every mind deserves a tongue—
Not fixed, but found. Not wrong, but strong.
And when you listen—not just hear—
With heart and hand and open gaze,
You’ll find our voices, crystal clear,
Have sung the future through the maze.
We are the poets, proud and vast—
Language remade, and built to last.