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Written by Shreya Venkatachalam, 14
From Texas, USA
This sphere that encompasses us
Is one of swirling green and blue from the outside.
“The only green orb!”
Many say and praise it,
But those pounding on the
Invisible glass of the sphere
To be released,
To be let go of,
Only know the hidden,
And not so hidden
Shadows of thick black
That hang in the atmosphere
Like a heavy bog.
And oh how those that see this fog
Wish it gone.
Oh how those that see this fog,
Those who slave over the fields
To feed their babies,
Those who blink away their sleep
To earn a place in this world,
Those who are forced to cower at the fists
That push them down each time they stand up,
Oh how those women yearn
To change this world
So they too have the chance
To see the swirling green and blue
With their own roaming eyes,
With their chin tilted up.
Oh how those women yearn
To demolish the looming smog
So they too can
Feel the rustle of grass and crashing of waves
With their feet up,
With their hands free of shackles.
Oh how those women yearn
To also be in this sphere the others rejoice,
And be a part of it.
To be respected in it.
To be acknowledged in it.
Oh how those women sit in the disgusting smoke
They are cursed with,
To spend minute after tormenting minute
Breathing,
Yet not living.
Only continuing for this dream,
This craving to be set free
From their captor,
To be able to finally change
This world so they too matter.
So that they too are seen without
The toxic fumes greedily hiding
What they represent:
Freedom.
