Speak by Ayya Al Badr

Posted on April 27, 2013 by

0


When my clock strikes, I will not kneel.

I will not stand.

I will not walk.
I will waltz and skip and race and twirl.
I will climb your mountains and smirk at your earth crumbling beneath me.

 

I will kick away your pebbles and dig my fingers between the rocks you always prided yourself with forming your mighty existence.

 

I will haul myself on you and over you, till I reach your peak and see the entire world beneath me, every bit of you beneath me.
I have mumbled and muttered and murmured and moaned.

I have wailed and whimpered and whispered and weeped.

I have grunted and giggled and gasped and groaned.

 

I have kissed the ground beneath you and drunk your tears. I have given you all but the last shred of dignity within me.

 

But it is my time now, and now I shall speak.

 

I shall speak of everything I wanted and needed and longed for and hated.

I shall raise my voice and howl at everything I am now over.

I will laugh, finally laugh, because your eyes glisten the way I always wished they would.

 

With awe, with respect.

 

You listen to me now. You fear me now.

 

Your clasp on my tongue is broken and if you haven’t already faltered at the realization, I will make sure my voice does it for you.

I’ll make sure it rings through your ears and echoes in your mind and showers you with remorse and absolutely, love.
I’ll make sure everything that ever was and everything that ever will be has been sung.

I’ll make sure there are no whispers left and no silence uninterrupted.
All the vowels and verbs and consonants and corruption you’ve ever thrown at me will be my spears today.
I have wept under your shadow for long enough.

 

Today, I roar.

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