Words On the Sand-Part 3

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