the elephant rests with a weary disposition,
calm and composed
yet she still sees the bustling world,
even with both her eyes closed
the elephant is mute,
her histories untold
without a voice to speak for her,
her stories are still waiting to unfold
the elephant’s body fades from black to gray,
its ripples likes breaths transcending in waves
the saturation of her skin manifests her desire to live,
yet the frame is her uninvited grave
the elephant is a nurturing force to others,
yet she is repressed and yearns for escape
her relinquished eternal potential
is wasted within her inanimate shape
the elephant spells out “let me out”
through the agrestal rippling of her skin
yet her immobility punishes her
for she suffers uncommitted sins
the elephant’s silence and static composition
speaks for the voiceless just like her
one day, you will be let out
just wait and you will be heard
jn
My trip to Big Bear during the weekend of the USC vs UCLA football game ended up being an intensely individualistic experience. I locked myself in a room the whole night — in it was me versus the elephant painting. As I listened to “Let Me Out” by Gorillaz, I had an overwhelming feeling of empathy for the elephant. She felt like a nurturing, almost maternal force, trapped inside a painting. The elephant reminded me of my mother, and it reminded me of all mothers like her. Immigrant mothers, ripped from their home and shackled in an uncharted territory, trapped in their own life and wasting away their own potential.
