She was agony personified,
Wrinkled blackened skin,
Broken teeth and knotted hair,
A baggage of pain on her shoulders,
She stood tall before us,
On that island that never sleeps,
To keep alive, to keep the dream.
They all wailed around her,
Some consoled the youth,
But her dry mouth spat aloud,
Her spit shall stay a stain on our face,
As she turned and walked,
Her eyes a blinding flash of anger.
Where are all men gone,
While the islanders wait for us,
To wipe off their blood and tears?
There's no place to hide ourselves,
There's no place to purge our shame.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem