"...(Jose Arcadio Buendia)went back to being the enterprising man of earlier days when he decided upon the layout of the streets and the location of the new houses so that no one would enjoy privileges that everyone did not have." From the novel "One Hundred Years of Solitude", by Gabriel García Márquez, translation by Gregory Rabassa'
Her feet divided and multiplied into infinite tentacles,
That slithered and writhed
Grew longer and longer,
Until they found their grip
As they entrenched the rich, brown earth.
Her hands splintered into copious branches.
Each time the wind brought,
The languished cry of an abandoned child
She broke off a tormented sliver from her brittle heart,
Offered it to the gods and prayed the child be rescued.
The gods in their heavens, heard her woeful pleas,
I find strength in my husband, like a tree from its roots. He is my home, my love. I owe him my everyday happiness. The thought of him can bring a smile, even on days when nothing goes my way.
Here’s a poem I wrote for him: Joy Ride
The spin-top tree sighed and fell silent.
He delved into his oceanic mind
After a day and night of deep deliberation,
He finally spoke
In a voice, soothing as caress,
‘My dear queen,’ he said softly,
‘As sad as your story is,
As genuine the need for answers
It’s hard to know what happened eons ago,
For it has been that long since you arrived in our tiny world.
Affected by his warmth,
She opened her heart
Laid her burdens at his paternal feet
She spoke of her brutal callousness,
Of a mother’s selfish heart,
Of her arduous journey
Of the thousand deaths her flesh endured
About her heart that became porous and brittle,
As she returned to the folds of humanity.
The spin-top tree –
The wisest of trees
That bore perfectly spherical flowers
That was also its fruit.
As timeless as the hills that bore him
He stood on his roots,
On the banks of the whispering brook
Like a solitary hermit on his lonely leg –
She flew away from all that she knew;
She ran far and wide
Frantically querying about a young maiden
With the most melancholy of face,
The one who could not smile, nor utter a single word.
When humans would not help,
She implored the Sun, pleaded with the Wind
Besought the elements,
That made up the universe –