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WORDS ON THE SAND (Part 3)

Not distant a young girl watching silent
On her wheelchair. No writing from a limited body
The sand waiting from her what in life is more salient
After she saw the old man, the woman and the boy

Holding in her hands a bunch of ginger flowers
An Atlas Moth Butterfly flew on her bush.
"Don't you ask anything for yourself? Your words are diamond ores".
She whispered like her mother when cuddling her blush

"Nothing I ask for myself. I want to give
My word for the old man, woman and young boy
Only for them my heart can live. I can't them forget.
They deserve more than my limited body.

"What is then that you want more?
That you want to write on the leaf of a Sycamore?
That will be chanted for ever by Homer?
That will be casted in the seas as golden ore?

"I want to write it for them all
On the sands and on waves
On the wings of the sea awls
On the tides hold by alabaster vases"

"The word I want to cast to all humans
Is "Hope". No more I want on this humid sand"
"Hope" she wrote striving with her weak hands
No force of nature could hold that brand

A silence wrapped the whole shore
The sky turned into a deep blue and dark brown
No tide, no wind, not even a glimpse of bodily sore
Nothing she asked to keep for her own

And all in a sudden a thunder broke the immense bay
On the two sides of the Ocean water falls as ascending alabasters
Leaving the abysses open to winds and to sky
Roman vessels appearing with replenished golden caskets

From the horizon four thousand white stallions
Galloping over the sea beds from the centre to the bays
From the right, sea lions directing waves' rebellions
From the left two legions of mermaids riding blue Wales

From Greece Eolous blowing his trumpets for winds to bend
From Crete Minerva came to heal the girl's legs
From Rome Hermes to write poetries about her strength
Finally the Almighty Atlas to lift her from her binding beds

Then silence, peace and a marine scent from the sea
No tide, no bird, no foam, no wind, as it has never been
Only a small bush of ginger flowers under the sycamore tree
Caressing an empty wheelchair cherished by dropping leaves
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