I want sing it all out of me. Some don’t like the speed, but I love the tone. Something reaping while bleeding that becomes something more. A lament for the dying who are not yet dead. A lullaby for the sleep walkers to find their beds. A whaling at the grieving wall. A gut wrenching cry so peace can find us all. But peace never comes, and the grief lives in my lungs and in my eyes. I try to smile but only wind up crying. But at least the tears flow now. So many years trapped behind a damn, begging to come out to feel the sun again. Light hits the water making crystals for my skin, hoping to sink in. To soothe my heart, for that's what tears are for. Holding them back keeps us forever forlorn and wandering alone. In desolate lands from man who never watered the plants. Only kept the water for himself so when the fires came he’d have something to sell. Cut up the mother to be purchased in parts. Slice the woman for beauty and call it art. Try as he may to overcome the sea, she will bring her reckoning. For water remembers everything. The record keeper is alive and well and ever present still, recalling all the blood we spilled, and the dirt we tilled to steal the shiny bits and toss the rest. The trees torn down for the land to be dressed in our farms and homes and our flags in the soil, and our sense of control. Plastic Earth and plastic girls. A God forbidding a woman to be real, ordaining man with the right to kill anything a little too wild. But she is not mad or hot tempered to be tamed. The mother is the Land, and the cup, and the water, itself: forces too big to be claimed. And her song will be heard by the whole world whether man tries to silence her or opens his ears, and whether or not he likes the sound, For the music is the calling of holy ground. Copyright © 2021, S. Naify
The Hymn of the Mother
Adversity, Ecology, Grief and Loss, nature, Overcoming, Philosophy, Poetry, Rhyming Poem, Transformation, water
I wrote my first story when I was a wee girl of three, followed by my first poem when I was eight. I’ve been writing ever since as a way to cope with life. This practice evolved with learning in both structured settings and through the practice, itself. In my own healing crisis, I found a process I affectionately refer to as Poetic Alchemy. Now on the journey of getting my life back, I do this not only for myself but for you.
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