Meredith Z Avakian: Picking Up the Pieces

Some call it a vase & some call it a vase
I alternate depending on what mood I’m in
I’ll choose to say vase today
But regardless, it’s symbolic of a people
A great people that were displaced
Like the pieces of this broken vase

Scattered & distorted
Picked up & aborted
Moved & confused
But they remain the same
Different pieces of the same vase
Many linking to one
One land. One nation. One people.
One greater whole.
That we’ll never know
But understand that it once was
It once was
It once was
And always will be
One beautiful vase

I am a piece of this broken vase
I may not look the same as the others
But the whole is incomplete without me
My matter is tattered
But that doesn’t matter
Because I am no less than the bigger pieces
Nor larger than those
Whole colors are exposed
And fit the unity of the once believed identity
From which eternity birthed infinity
Which calculates as the sum I’ll never know

Pick up the pieces
I challenge you to find one
From the same mold – young or old
That you’ll recognize as an equal…
Contribution without exclusion
Considered a mere sequal
Embrace the difference
And recognize the similarities
You’re part of the same vase

Yes, it may’ve been broken
Beaten, hidden & damaged
Some were lost along the way
And others seemed to manage
It’s not complete
Without unity
How can we recreate?
But if you constantly search
And pick up the pieces
One at a time
And keep them together
Bound by need
You’ll gather the remains and be amazed
When you start to see
What is still the makings of
One beautiful vase.

April 18, 2007
Copyright Meredith Z Avakian
Used here by kind permission of the author.