My poetry anthology won a Silver Award in the 2016 Ocean Awareness Student Contest! Read the poem below!
Oil on Water
Thin-film
interference is beautiful—a myriad
of iridescent
hues in nacreous swirls,
oil on water.
Rainbows on the
ground, white light blooming
into an infinity
of harmony; monotony morphing
into color,
lazily waltzing to the dance of opulence.
Oil on water.
Tons of black,
pungent oil gushing in relentless
eddies, pouring
darkness into a sparkling realm of
innocence. Spewing
death into waves of life.
Mother, a little girl said. What
are those colorful
puddles in the water? Mother looked grim.
Runoff of oil from a factory, sweetheart.
The girl took a
step forward, cautiously, deliberately—
saw the swirls
of oil spread their spectral wings in the
endless blue,
reflecting shards of sunlight,
glittering in
devastating tones.
The patterns are kind of pretty, she thought. Until
she looked
around, saw a fish floating in the water,
nestled against
the ripples of faint brownish-red.
Motionless,
unseeing,
dead.
Horrified, she
yelped, fell against her mother’s
arms. The
lustrous opals glimmering in the sea
were no longer
beautiful. They were deadly,
venom down
unsuspecting throats.
Inhaled by
unwary, heedless noses. Injected
into guiltless
blood-streams, absorbed through
sinless skins.
Oil on water.
Awake
Her name was
Hope. Three years later, she watched
the news—saw the
plight of the oceanic realm.
Birds enmeshed
in glops of oil, struggling
to breathe the
fresh, unadulterated air. Pelicans
mired in
hopelessness, unable to fly. Too
overwhelmed by
the pollution around them, contrasted
with the
glistening purity of the sky.
Fish strewn
across the waters, in a line of
agony. Like
little grains of rice in a glass of
water and soy
sauce. Open mouths, as though
they had been
gasping for breath in the last
few seconds of
their abridged lives.
A pipeline had
burst, spilling its toxins into the
Earth’s azure treasuries.
Human negligence,
Hope thought. Errors at the expense of
natural, indispensable life. Drilling procedures
in the sea,
spilling oil, petroleum—tarnishing
the sparkling
blue, leaving behind a darkened
ache.
Ocean pollution,
everywhere. Death, horror
permeating
throughout the fabric of
the globe. Oil
seeping into the plumage of birds
once majestic,
of birds with feathers once fine. Preening
birds ingest the
venom, choke to the underworld.
Rubbing her
hands together, Hope stood up. Tied
her loose
strands of hair, threw her
shoulders back. Felt
like her mellifluous voice had
been amplified
by a thousand times, as she said
to herself: within my power, within my range,
within whatever resources I have nestled
in my palms;
within my abilities, but beyond my
dreams,
from now on I strive to make a change.
Change
Hope stepped
into a lab, weeks of
rigorous
training trailing behind her. Oil-soaked
creatures,
bereft of an identity. Just a shapeless
mass, entrenched
in the shackles of loss. Massaging
a pelican in
warm vegetable oil, ridding it of
its blackened
smears.
With the
dexterity of an expert, with the tenderness
of a mother,
Hope cleaned the bird’s tainted
plumage,
watching with delight as its feathers
reverted back to
their natural, lightened hue. Watched
as the innocent
bird regained its ability to hunt,
to feed itself,
to fly,
to live.
Without a
family, but with the chance
of starting a
new life in the wild—destroyed by
the oil spill,
but offered a chance at
resurrection. Hope
watched injured, asphyxiated
sea turtles
regain their ability to breathe, to
swim with the
power of their species. Held,
massaged,
promised to save them; never
forgot her vow
to make a change.
Campaigns which
began as messages written
with fluorescent
markers, on tattered pieces of
cardboard. Shouted
on the streets
in a quiet, desolated
neighborhood, a few ears willing
to listen, never
willing to act.
Campaigns which
blossomed into a line of
supporters,
messages spray-painted on unending
lines of pale
blue cloth; pictures of birds drenched
in oil, of fish
floating—unseeing, devoid of life.
Pictures of the
ugly thin-film interference on
pristine waves
of water. Discharge from factories,
accidents from
oil tankers. Hundreds conflated
into a single
voice, brimming with
passion; ears
pricking up, emotion welling
in once
dispassionate eyes, indifferent façades.
As lines of
supporters cleaned up fallen
animals, raised
awareness in voices immaculately
arranged;
thought Hope—I have begun
to make a change.
Power
Years older,
years of advocacy trailing behind her,
helping her
speak before stern officials, spectacles
glinting
menacingly.
A
petition—gleaming, beautiful paper:
stop offshore drilling!
Thousands of
names, emotions,
tears. In
response to death, illness, devastation. Petitions—
for leak
detection devices, regular inspections.
Prevention is
better than cure, her eyes read,
glittering with
a powerful, purposeful light.
We have one world, Hope said. Water is what
has birthed us, what has distinguished
the earth
from a boiling sphere of fire and rock.
Train
your workers, station emergency personnel
in the devastating case of an oil spill!
Double
hulls in marine vessels. Thick-hulled
tanks.
Raise awareness, rally the ranks. If a
spill occurs—
evacuation zones, equipment, love and care!
Urbanization is all very well… but
progress
coupled with environmental destruction?
You may
believe that the globe is developing: but
continue
at this terrifying pace, aspire to stay
ahead
of the race—and there shall be no future
for my children,
no future for yours. Just a swirling mass
of
human superiority, mingled with the past
souls of innocent marine life, and the
swirls of
leftover oil.
The crowd behind
Hope murmured,
excited by the
prospect of positive change; moved
by the presence
of environmental advocacy—
powerful
advocacy, words and actions to
save, to
propagate, beautiful lives.
Hope stood tall,
unflinching. Thinking of the pelicans
she had bathed,
thinking of the ones that had passed
away into the
arms of oblivion. Remembering
the day she
discovered oil spills, how she had believed
that its
twirling motifs could be beautiful. A life of exposure
to ocean
pollution.
But she was born
to make a change.
Aftermath
She walked
alone, basking in the solitude; her
silvery-white
hair fluttering before heavy
eyes. Dry lips
widening into a smile
as she saw young
children running about,
next to water so
fresh, pure—it made her heart
swell with joy,
with pride. Hope’s happiness
steadfastly
refused to subside.
I’ve been a little, naïve girl, she thought. Who
blossomed into a student, an
environmental activist,
a petitioner, a legislator. But I am
still Hope—
for I help breed hope when there is none.
I’ve helped
save waters that were thought too tarnished
to be saved, I’ve helped the forthcoming
generations of animals.
She went near
the water, laughed as sunlight
smiled off its
rippling crests. Swirls of rainbow hues
can be lovely,
but nothing is more beautiful than
an untainted
blue.
My life is almost over, but I can pass
away
in peace; for across my lifespan, across
its
range—
I know that I have made a
change.
