Language
Melbourne, Australia
2020, Senior, Poetry & Spoken Word
A lone man tramps along the coast
The cuffs of his suit oozing
A slick black rainbow trails in his wake
Indelible.
Icy gray foam sloshes
Across a girl’s bare shins
She presses her ear to a conch shell
Swirled with caramel, sienna, hazel
And hears the retch of waters smothered by debris
As the briny gale rakes its fingers through her salt-caked hair
She murmurs, klimat
But that means nothing to the man
The rough-hewn face of the rock
Digs into the boy’s backside
Still he sits, surveying the hazy skyline
As blood red blends into murky indigo
These days, otousan’s boat returns home later and later
As the spoils of his fishing nets grow smaller and smaller
The boy watches the boats bob on the skyline
And dip their oars into the rays of the sun
Wishing he had a fat grilled mackerel
Instead he chews the smog-blackened air
The taste reminds him of the cigarette butts
That otousan used to strew
Like cherry blossoms on the damp sand
Their embers glowing orange underfoot
Years ago, when he could still afford them
Kikou, the boy croaks
But it falls upon deaf ears
Beneath the glowering sun
The rotting remains of the whale
Look strangely shrunken to the girl
So unlike the towering tanks
Discarded like carcasses back home
Against a canvas of matchstick buildings
Peppered with bullet wounds
The mournful caw of a seagull overhead
Resounds within her chest
With each pulse of her twisting heart
This same life used to course
Through the whale’s plastic-lined sinews
Cimilada, she pleads
Munakh
Iklim
Qihou
Klimaat
Clima
But the man does not understand
So
When drizzles become deluges become maelstroms
That devour homes, thrash schools, uproot trees
And leave them scattered, haphazard, desolate
Like plastic bags littering a beach
No words are necessary
When raging fires herald forks of lightning
That cleave ridges cleanly in two
Children, seething with the crackle of electricity
Instil an unstoppable force within the masses
The drum of their shoes on the asphalt
Beats in time with the swell of the tide
As it collides against the craggy shore
The rhythm of their war song needs no common language
And in the face of their thundering bellows, rumbling chants, booming roars
The man turns his head at long last
And he sinks
Sodden grains of sand smear the knees of his suit
The ocean spray flecks his cheeks
And trickles down the deep lines etched into his face
A slender white hand envelops the man’s chafed fingers
A girl with hair the color of straw pulls him to his feet
Her azure dress flaps in the wind
Reminds him of what gray can become
In a world of but one color
They have no common language, but she speaks nevertheless
It’s not too late
Erasable.
Reflection
Reflection
I remember the first time I saw a news article about school strikes for climate change; I was astonished. Though I was no stranger to the severity of the global warming crisis, I had never imagined that hundreds of thousands of young people all over the world would ever join together with so much passion. Despite our differences, and even our inability to communicate with each other, we have proved that we can put these things behind us for the sake of this common goal. It gave me hope that no matter how irreversible climate change may seem, we can still save the world if we unite as one to rectify our mistakes. I want everyone to remember that no matter how small and insignificant their voice may seem, every last word is so important; you may not be able to see the waves you make, but combined with those of others, we can create a tsunami! That’s why I will continue to advocate for climate action in my school, community, and social media with spoken and written words.