To My Daughter
They placed the bundle in my arms
The missing piece: my beating heart
Inhaled your scent: sweet futures, laughs
Cries, tangy tears and endless claps.
You my life, my heart: my rising tide
My goal, my mission, raise you wild,
Strong like ancient Ash/Maple barks.
You my all. My sweet sweet balm
Who grew from my genes and cries
For something better to be and I
In awe, I saw your tiny hand clasp
My guiding finger
***
From The Ancient World She Came
Quintuple Acrostic and Occasional Poem.
Eloquent words flow effortlessly from the tip of your tongue
Lass, even when rolling out of the slumber you are in control
Eyes aflame flicker along with the wise hair, a bright wildfire.
Notating truth, colourful lines: thousand secrets unknown
Alas, a penny for your thoughts! Do you keep hidden jokes? A
Chest full of promising futures? Your bones are made of hope.
Lids the impenetrable doors of your mysterious flaming soul.
A roaring heart pumping red excitement, glad to be alive!
Singing sisters dancing ‘till dawn…We’ll now be known
Songs of wisdom, songs of joy. Sincerely, your adoptive mama
Infinite ivy curling and knotting: blessing the friendship. Big
Clouds may hide the light, storms may blur the sight. Yet the future is a
Stem, drinking water from the soil of our strength. Watch her climb.
***
Knowledge Is Written in Her Veins.
Quadruple Acrostic and Occasional Poem.
At the top of the tree, a multicoloured bud came to be. A
Radiant lethal leaf, all green turn to be. She whirls in the air
Twirls and sways. As witty as the British weather. With a secret
You could never guess. Packed with facts. A fountain of glory
Mythical nymph flooding the kingdom with magical stories from
America, Germany and all the magnetic uncharted lands. A
Real tangible source of knowledge vastly written in her veins. Hear
If you dare. Yet, beware — the burden of wisdom. Treat her with care. I
End this fable of her majestic deity. She shan’t be restrained in this strophe.
***
Nocturne is Nigh
Stardust thou art and unto dust shalt thou
return, to the stars.
The End is Nigh and The Night is Here.
The End is Nigh as The wind whispers the wonders of
freedom whirling and twirling strands of my hair.
Gentle — is the breeze of the summer’s air.
The Night is Here and The Tree’s shadows dance
with the Moonlight to the rhythm of the croaks,
chirps and hoots.
The grass whispers as it sways — tells
secrets as i clutch it; its soft fur caresses
my five fingers.
The sweet steam of the summer’s night
sliding smoothly; rolling down my spine.
drip drops of salt; damp warms the soil.
and i stare at the vastness of that —
that endless black canvas staring back
with those million shining starry eyes
but tonight i’m here. Even though i come from
there and even though the night is here and even
though the end is nigh… i just can’t wait.
***
The Swing of The Golden Shovel
After Elisabeth Hewer’ There Are Girls like Lions
In the vast field with the strong wind the dandelions
grew stronger than iron, fearless than wolves
wilder than heath — uncultivated, they battled with teeth!
For the ones to come, they wore purple, they fought the war,
never alone though. They won the longer portion of the wishbone.
They were condoned for being born, oh.
The world is their oyster and they turn to be mighty girls
to cure the blisters of this uneven scald. With sharp claws
and strong jaws: causing havoc, writing laws for those who
through, blood and sweat, overcome the beast of fire
everyday…Fight with light against the liar: blind kindness
will always be your guidance — store it safely in your rucksacks
next to the sweet syrup of sisterhood deeds. You’ll need
the sword of freedom and the speed of your limbs
to take you to the land of the flowing milk. Their hands
tightly clasped through the thunder and treacherous paths. The hungerer
will look at their eyes and witness how they rise.
***
The Pantoum of Pain and Other Longing Aches
I come from where the eagle perched
on a prickly cactus devouring a rattlesnake.
The valley who my ancestors searched
for. Home Sicknesses sometimes overtake.
On a prickly cactus devouring a rattlesnake
I’m divided. Nowadays my essence
Seeks Home. Sicknesses most times overtake
the flavours of my faded adolescence.
I’m divided, two-sided now as my essence
is split in two. I’m barely the distant
corn flavours of my jaded adolescence.
My warm yellow land - inconsistent
as I’m split in two. The long distant
lime’s taste spilling in my young tongue
My cold distant land. The inconsistent
marigolds’ scent of when I was young,
the lime’s taste stinging in my tongue.
My lips painted red with the melon.
The marigolds’ scent and once, I was young
My mouth in awe like the melon’s O.
My lips painted red. The melon’s
stress bounces from me to lon like me.
My mouth in awe like the melon’s O
In English though, the stress lives in me.
The stress bounces from me to lon like me.
My carcass summons my soul from the sun
to England, I thought the stress lived in me.
I’m not from here. Neither there. I’m torn.
My carcass summons my soul from the sun
My visceral Spanish voice is born in my guts,
I’m not here. I am there. I’m twisted and torn
like the constant confusion within my vocal cords.
My visceral Spanish voice is born in my guts,
My English though, meek foreigner, a fragile guest
The constant confusion within my vocal cords
when the English vowels escape from my chest
forming English words. Foreigner and fragile guest
from the valley who my gone-ancestors searched.
When my English vowels escape from my chest
They tell that I come from where the eagle perched.
***
It was subtle.
I didn’t see any of it coming.
Like the thin line between sunset and night.
You see a beautiful purple horizon — you blink,
take a deep breath then —
darkness.
I was in denial.
‘How many more people die from poverty?’
‘This simply can’t be our next normality’
I didn’t care,
‘I’m not going to let the mass media manipulate me in that way.
I’m stronger than that’.
I convinced myself.
I lied to myself.
On Monday there were fewer children in schools.
On Tuesday vulnerable people were shielding in their homes.
On Wednesday you could feel the fear in the air.
This is what animals feel before a disaster it’s about to hit.
By Thursday I was hidden away in a dusty cluttered cupboard
trying as hard as I could not to cry.
I failed.
I found myself in a sea of despair.
I found myself being held by a friend.
She held me tightly to her bosom.
I was four years old again and I cried.
I cried for being alone, for pushing people away.
‘Why do I keep isolating myself?’
‘Why did I abandon my family anyway?’
It’s been more than a decade now.
If this virus was about to kill us all
I wanted to die in my hometown, in my land,
not in a far remote island, instead —with my clan.
The eerie darkness and emptiness of
an atypical Heathrow airport welcomed me
Saturday night.
There were no queues,
no people in the pubs,
only a handful yet empty shops.
Some strained smiles behind face masks.
‘Be safe’ I said to the guy as he gave me my passport back
and with that I left the UK behind.
After a twelve-hour flight
fantasising how I’d embrace my brothers,
when I finally saw them
I greeted them with a timid ‘hi’.
Gabriela Belard 