She is the burning sun that rises in the Himalaya,

A cold storm in the middle of the Sahara,

I cannot see her.

Her visage was the Moon

Her hair the veil of the night made of the purest carbonado

Her eyes were two bright stars and she twirled in the court of Saba,

The petals of her lips singing to the Gods.

Her laughs in the garden turned into weed and ravens

On the balcony, I whisper her name to the Lost Children

Have you seen my sister?

She was the Moon and the stars, an angel in disguise.

The Devil trapped and dragged her to Hell

For Proserpina she was mistaken

Have you seen my Joy and my Soul?

Or must I have to face Israel’s seven years of burden?