The Woman Next Door

When you see her, show her the last winter leaves and tell her…
They are like the last of her surviving generation.

Woman next door,
Tell me,
From where do you suck your health in this dungeon of death?
What nourishes your smile in these shanties of grief?
Tell me,
When all you have are blistered fingers,
With what do you use to caress your bleeding heart?
When all the world wants is to tell of your fears,
Tell me,
What stops your tears?
When all the world see are your calloused feet?
And forget you nourish the next generation from your fallen breasts!

You who Survival is your first and last name
You are the epitome of strength,
You are the like spawn grass growing in the cracks of the concrete
You are like the couch grass, uprooted but growing on
You are like a flower thriving amidst thistles
Like twilight flowers, you open to spill fragrance of beauty to them close to you

You who are a sea of endless wonder and mysteries,
You who are not just a woman but magic,
You who makes honey from garlic,
Defying limitations,
Going beyond expectations.
And whose hunger feeds my stomach to satisfaction.
You whose smile lightens up the dark side of our towns.

Woman next door
Show them how with pride your heart beats
Show them that which makes you glow
When the world lies low
Show them,
You whose empty pockets fill my heart with coins of care
Show them how to give when the pockets have nothing

The woman next door.
Teach us to find wealth in emptiness
To fill our empty purses with notes of love
Teach us how to mold smiles from our broken backs
Share with us, the wealth of nothingness
Share with us, the joy in sorrow!