Panthera Onca
A bloated river vomits its contents
Towards the sea
Debris and mud floating fast
Past boulders, jutting rocks, obstacles,
Creamy foam caps and whirlpools,
Deadly admission to the underworld below
Where the Jaguar King lives
There he sits, alone on his throne
Panthera onca, God of the night
He pretends to smile, licking his wounds
The ones that time never healed,
From centuries of ancient battles
Playing on repeat
Absorbed in the pleasure of his pain
He is blind, for the moment
If he would stop for one second
And take stock quietly, calmly,
“He who kills with one leap”,
Would admire his strength, his prowess
And see that his beauty, is not vain
That he has produced a kingdom
Of fierce warriors,
Rosettes distinct and unique
Who will carry his name proudly
And love him to the end of time
Flawed, wounded, whole, broken
Perfect
And the one who circles
Who cannot fully enter
Is filled with desire
To provide a balm
For his wounds, and hers
Relief, even healing
And together the strength
To come to the surface
To break through the water
To swim as only jaguars can
And to embrace the living world
In darkness and in light
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