Tag Archives: songlyrics

To Tell A Daughter/Son

Hey Guys! Sorry I’ve been so absent recently…I’m still here! How have you all been?

Looking back through the year at my poems I wanted to pick ones that I really enjoyed writing to post again. These two I love because although I didn’t have an idea in my head when I started it showed me what I felt was important.. and also maybe they are quite relevant with the situation the world has on it’s hands right now :(

To Tell A Daughter 

So then we start to listen,
and we learn to open ourselves up,
into the possibility that the world is more than just our own, to tell her

In her heart she is more than the land she comes from
but in her heart she must hold that land dearly
because from it she blossomed.

How her beauty grows despite corruption,
her grace holds despite suffering
means she is nothing short of perfect,
despite the things she may have seen.

To Tell A Son

So then we start to appreciate life,
so much so because we gave you yours.
We live in the possibility that the world can be anything, to tell him

The world may get bigger but you will learn to see everything,
and the land you are from will start to seem small,
but you will learn that you need it and want peace for it all.

You can be a conqueror besides that of men,
teaching you this early you may have every
means of freedom.

1. Shanty Town

Abia stood at the end of her street.
The Eastern Point. The highest Peak.
They very tip-top.

The sun had grown tired and it’s eyes were closing over her city,
leaving blinks of blush rose through the setting skies.
Palm trees exhaled in whistles with the wind, mahogany darbuka drums echoed in the distance.

She looked down upon Merolas Favela (Shanty). 
Children sat with their legs swung over porch poles, some in the dirt, playing with marbles.
Old Men swigged from flasks and played their hand at Truco.
Women pegged hand washed clothes on rope made with bamboo, hung from window to window.

Favela. Home.
From up here, Abia could see everything. It was dusk but Merolas was alive in all manner of colour, and she did not want it to change.

© elenaxtina.com, 2015 in Skies over a Shanty Town

XIII. Almari

The Story Torcello told Tomaso

As a brother, Tomaso was one of two. As a sibling, he was one of seven.
The elder of five sisters, he quickly learned lessons of responsibility and sacrifice.

The Almari (name family lineage) were known for generations as mietitrebbia (laborers) of the Sicilian hillside.
Harvesting from the olive vineyards in summer season, and rearing lambs winter through to spring.
A profession that left them respected, but ironically less fruitful.

Dedicated to the church and bound by its rituals,
any extra wealth would slip through his fathers fingers before it settled in his pocket,
or indeed that of his children.

This left some of the seven humble. Some of them, hungry.
His brother, the latter.

Tomaso saw a world to be healed. Antonio saw a world to be conquered.

© elenaxtina.com, 2015

III. In Dreams of Aventurine

Her nonno had recited to her as a child, stories of the magical Isola before bed,
so she would drift into dreams of molton glass and streets with turquoise floors.

The craftsman there were at the disposal of the re* (king). On his command, they would sculpt the most exquisite glass treasures, with which he decorated the palace in abundance.
As many thousands as the stars in the night sky.

Nonno said any fragment that left in travelling hands would ensure all amount of good fortune to its destination. “The charms from Italia”.

Catalina saw this to be true as she walked along the cobbled street of Strada Cerezo, craft houses alight with flames from burning ovens.
Clear glass, enameled glass, aventurine (glass with gold threads), millefiori (multicoloured glass), milk glass and imitation gemstones.
Each that held a memory, each that sealed a promise.

© elenaxtina.com, 2015

In healing

In healing, here it is I learn,
it’s about time we push a little bit more,
for that reality you fight so hard for,
one you watered and nurtured,
the one you grew for us
and never asked for

Like the tropics in full bloom at summer
you are full of stories,
and all the ones you used to tell,
I remember them so well
and have lived in their shade
more than once before,
like they have for you, they heal me
more than the dreams the rest have
and sell

In healing, here it is I learn,
that if I look into your eyes,
as if still a child,
I see that you too, remember them all
so well