On the innate nature of our mind, is it Language, the key to our kind?

A symphony of sounds, a symphony of thoughts. Is it the bound of our conscious knot?

Language and mind, in harmony,

Shaping our perception of time, and its reality.

But is it the language, or the mind, that dictates, our understanding of time?

The past, in words, the memory we find,

The future, in words, the hope we bind.

But is it the language, or the mind, that dictates, our perception of time, and its fate?

Time, in words, a concept we've made, Mind, in words, a matter that’s braid

So is it the language, or the mind, that's swayed of our consciousness that is portrayed?

Is it the key to our intelligence,

Or the reflection of our existence? In the end, it's a question to ponder

Is language the source or the reflection of our wonder?