FOR THE MOTHERLAND
CRYING OUT TO HER CHILDREN
Sprawled out on the stage of life
Her world turns and runs river red
With the blood of her children flowing
Like a weary wandering stream.
Bloated ballooned bellies mock aborted pregnancies;
Once full luscious breast now sag in parallel union;
Wrinkle faces shadow spiraling hope—whirling
Like solitary ghost smoke of abandoned fires;
Abandoned fires—dying in waning time.
Hollowed red eyes of fleeing lovers stare rearward;
The wholeness of nothingness simmering—
Content, ole death sits and wait…
Without doubt, the wonted feast self assured.
Residual heartbeats of hope continue to struggle;
Murmuring in the shadows of the valley of life—
Pursuing the undying mercies of the Trilogy
In the midst of this hazed Dante hell,
An unwavering stalwart mother—faithfully,
Again faces the chastisement of time and history.
Rooted in audacious faith, she now cries out
To her wandering brood in Diaspora—
Sable souls snatched from her precious womb;
Scattered liberating souls—Umbilical bound souls
Destined to restore the grandeur of her great glory;
Wrapped in her sage and seasoned courage,
She sagaciously squats—and in her coveted lap
She holds seeds of hope: awaiting the victory.