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O Tongue, what is wrong with you? Why do you not have the fluency of these typing fingers? Why do you stutter and break, and disconnect with freely flowing thoughts? What have I done that makes you whisper in good company, what have I done to make you falter?

In past years I made mistakes: I don’t deny that. Once when my ego was bruised and happiness bled away, haemorrhaging to despair, I sought refuge in the recurrent vodka and coke, and later when I turned away, drying out and moving on I realised that my mind was scrambled and you were boycotting me. One year later I embraced this noble deen and you were on the mend. With peace and as confidence grew, you rose too and began to accompany me on this journey. A year ago you were at your peak. I was a manager leading a team of three with guidance and support, taking the telephone in hand though my heart was still shy and never did you let me down.

But today? What of today? Have I neglected you? For months now you stutter and break. You refuse to listen to my thoughts as the push through my forelock. In every gathering you lock and harden and all you say with fluency is ‘Alhamdulilah.’ Where did you go on Friday when my dear friend introduced me to another of his? I conversed as best I could, but by the end of the evening he had written me off as not worthy of his attention: I am no intellectual, no eloquent speaker, no one worthy of inclusion in the unending conversation. And what of last night? You dared not compete with the background chatter, losing my thoughts to the wind as I engaged with those on my right and left. What have I done, O tongue? What have I done to deserve this?