The day the son of Ana Maria de Santos
was swept from her arms
by a hillside of mud
was the last time she saw colors.
She spent the rest of her life
choking on rainbows,
and cursing God
under gray, weeping skies.
A blinding rage
ravished Ana Maria de Santos,
rolling over her
in thick, scalding lava,
until she became an ancient ruin
desecrated by elements.
A black blanket of dreams
covered her each night,
smothered her in the darkness,
strangled her
as she searched the starless sky
for a sunrise she could not see.
And to this day,
her eyes filled with mud,
ears plugged,
she gags on rainbows
dancing about her face
as she turns away to mourn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
How strong and moving, Raynette. Not like your customary poems that appreciate nature and don't curse it. Powerful stuff. Linda