The Utterance
Artwork by E.P. Mexi, age 17
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Utter the utterance, meaningless sounds,
Break the broken, tied and bound,
Chase after life like a bloodthirsty hound,
Forgetting to look at what is all around.
We open our ears but can’t seem to hear,
Our ears are clogged, making all words unclear, We look up at the sky but are blinded by the sun’s rays,
Our eyes can’t be freed when they can’t tear themselves away.
What is left of worth, in a world,
Where only the blind can see, only the deaf can hear, Where only the rich go hungry, and only the poor are fed, Where all that is beautiful is drowned in lies,
Where all that seems kind is only a disguise,
Where all that floats can do naught but drown, Where all that is gold is not the glittering crown.
Speak, utter, the utterance and all else,
Words make up the essence of being,
Like the scent that flows from an exotic perfume, Like the colors that leak from a canvas scene.
No sound louder than silence,
No weakness weaker than strength,
No courage more consuming than fear,
No sword more lethal than words.
Utter your words, let them fill the air with their purest beliefs, And when they rain down like blessings and wash away the griefs, For words are like birds that tentatively perch on a tree, Waiting to be released, whether their fate is to fall or fly free.
But words never simply fly, but they surpass all and soar, Above the clouds, to the sun and moon and back home, Bringing us most extraordinary light from afar,
Like lanterns, they never could be extinguished at all.
Utter your utterance to the one who will hear
Break your bonds and throw the chains in the sea Speak with love, prostrate with grief
Utter the utterance, hopeless sounds,
When hearts are shattered and dreams are bound. Utter the utterance, careless sounds,
When hands are roughened and faces are browned. Utter the utterance, ignorant sounds,
When all is quiet, and noise is drowned.
Utter the utterance, meaningless sounds,
When the world is waiting, waiting to be found.
Utter the utterance, meaningful sounds,
When all has broken, and come crashing down.
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Nurah Cheema is in eighth grade at Washington International Academy. She lives in Northern Virginia and counts her library as a second home.