Between prose and poetry, the story of a contemporary Mother Earth.

Six feet five-
a giant -
she sees poverty from above.

Her tangled grey hair
covers her shoulders and shines.

She's silver, disappears in sewers
that swarm with rats.

The stillness disturbed
by their racing and fighting
for soiled food.

Ancient writings,
the wrinkles on her face;
it takes great knowledge
to decipher them, under the moonlight,
once she emerges
from the dirty underworld.

Sometimes, she's an endless shadow
walking in the desert.
Then, if a stranger meets her piercing eyes,
she's a lighthouse in the fog.

Each of her steps
is an earthquake
in the streets where the homeless
slowly die, defeated
by today's growing greed.

She can scream like a siren
until, exhausted and silent,
her long dress torn,
her old shoes covered in mud,
she watches the edge of the world.

She's a tower, standing tall,
a bridge between continents
that are growing apart
and an island of solitude
when humanity hurts.

She sees aimless landscapes,
dangerous drifts,
the faster movement
of a whole universe
shifting away from its own core.

One may think she's mad,
leaning slowly
on schizophrenic planet Earth
(so broken, so divided).

She IS crazy,
wanting to carry
the whole heavy world
in her strong arms
and lift it back
to dignity and awareness.

(Don't we need her desperate attempt?)