It must have been her,
my sky who screamed furiously in that freezing day
and ended up bursting into tears.
I jumped from my bed, leaving
my cozy quilt, stepping on cold herringbone parquette
walking to the window,
just to see my sobbing sky.
And she was up there, crying a river.
She had never been like this.
I did not see the smile
drawn on her face
by thin sheets of cirrus, like I used to see
in sunny summer day.
So I asked her,
"Why are you crying, my dear?"
She answered no words and
nothing spoke but her tears.
I could read nothing in her eyes
but monstrous flash
that led to a thunderous tantrum
echoing in my mind.
So I serenaded her,
"Carve a smile, and wipe your tears.
Because sorrow would fly away,
and leave you a rainbow,"
But my sky kept crying and
nothing could not stop her.
Probably black clouds frightened her,
or mister sun refused to shine,
or morning dews forgot to welcome her,
and suddenly my sky said,
"Mother earth is dying.
Seeing her suffers hurts me.
Her pains remain scars,
that would hardly ever vanish,"
So my sky showed me
the crying children of Gaza losing their parents,
the silent screams from big cities,
the macabre bombing haunting little babies,
the twin brothers of the land of the morning calm fighting,
and the sinking pristine beaches.
Mother earth is dying
and the death of her is unknown.
Nothing spoke but my sky's tears
that told about agony and misery.
Then there was my sky,
still crying and whispering
a silent lamentation in the middle of the rain.
I wondered if mister sun
listened to my sky's story, dimmed his light
and wore a black ribbon.
And it must have been me,
who knew the story of my sobbing sky, fell in silent
and ended up bursting into tears.
