She once sang sweet songs of sands,

Grew green grasslands wherever she trod.

Her beauty captivated drifting sailors from afar.

Her virgin soils, untouched, unploughed, uncultured. 

When she sings her children gather around, 

A balanced ecosystem of harmony and prosperity. 

Woman of the Caribbean.

 

She provides for her people, 

Blesses them with refreshing rain, soaking sun and whispering winds.

All that she does, is good. 

The way she swings her hips to teach the coconut trees how to bounce- back.

Life was good then.

 

Until those two legged aliens came.

They sowed seeds of corruption, deception and pollution.

Their metal claws ruptured her coral waste-lines,

And burst her non-renewable skins.

Her pearls and jewels have been extracted from their secret places.

The woman’s children were forced to migrate.

 

I saw her once; bursting bosoms of blossoms and blooms.

Now look at her bare bleeding barrenness. 

No youthful springs or salty tears; import foreign visitors now her body rejects them.

No sounds of bustling lifeforms existing in their natural state.

This woman of the Caribbean; needs our help.

Her children have not the strength nor the tools to maneuver her landscapes.

 

Some of those two-legged aliens though were caught praying at her feet.

While others preyed on her meat.

 

I’ve seen them, building strange things that uphold the woman’s frail frame.

Some gather in groups, and clean her teeth of pollutants.

Some guard her children in the forests and by the sea.

Some rally more support to save this Caribbean woman.

They’ve been bending and shifting the tides of support,

For time is already gone. 

Some have adapted and strive to live in harmony with the woman’s children.

 

Some call her the woman that hurts, some call her mother earth.

If she lives, or if she dies… rests now on those two-legged aliens.

If she breeds, or if she breathes. 

If she sits, or if she quits.

Hangs on how these two-legged aliens adapt to the woman’s needs.