Spratly! The islands are merry around,
by white grief everywhere so profound.
soldiers about ten, strange to waves and tides,
dormant still feel the islands drift, all slides.
The islands are wild, absent even any ghost;
of primitive species, of no name to boast,
add day after day the color green of chill
the stony human bodies forever standing still.
hundred nautical miles! as an unable cruiser,
cry, I laugh, like a violently physical self-abuser;
bend my back patiently to swallow the bitter pill,
no more shield, I try to walk fast in the drill.
In the headwind season, severe wind repletion,
East bank is mudslide, the West one accretion.
unrooted trees are waiting to be pulverized:
they repent of being born in a spot ill-devised?
there the dreamlike cyan gulf water shows
clusters of libratory algae that always glows
the layers of sadness which continously lines
my solitary soul that still lively shines.
Oh! Terra firma, do you hear me? calling I am.
smash the boundlessness, the call-signal jam.
for me, well, break open the thick distance!
bird awoken is lonely crying in persistence.
The white daylight dazzles as to file;
blazes and peals in a dance of such a silly style.
hair seems, each strand red hot to be burned,
cracks like the bloom of youth concerned.
The skinny plants along the subsided bank,
but still striving for existence tho blank,
make efforts until even being dragged away
the time the edges are green in a Renewal Day.
grow, bristling with many a bonny branch;
afflictions also come to an end, so stanch.
joins the stones into a secluded milestone:
use it as a stela in memory of the One I enthrone.