Mi' Padre' was stabbed in a bar fight.
The cantina is the deepest of wells.
Mi' Madre' put mi' ropa in la mochila.
La pandillas tiene mi' hermano - He fell.

Madre' sold her finest of silver
To buy maquillaje to color my face.
She said, "Better that you should have her"
To the man who had come from The United States.

Yo era una nina novia.
El era un hombre mayor.
I wanted to run away fast, go back home,
But nothing was there for me anymore.

I was but only sixteen.
I had never been touched before.
There I was in such a new land,
Our cothes crumpled on the floor.

The whole time I kept my eyes closed.
I longed for mi' familia and home.
He held me and slumbered when it was over.
My tears were hot and I felt so alone.
.
Yo era una nina novia.
El era un hombre mayor.
I wanted to run away fast, go back home,
But nothing was there for me anymore.

I was told to learn to speak English.
To abandon the language I knew.
I did not speak of my heritage,
It was better that I was kept from view.

I learned to cook like an American wife,
And soon I could speak like the rest.
It was difficult, but I learned how to fit in.
I even changed the way that I dressed.

Yo era una nina novia.
El era un hombre mayor.
I wanted to run away fast, go back home,
But nothing was there for me anymore.

These days, I spend keeping shop,
When the children are still at the school.
They are the heart of my life.
They are named Sally and Raul.

The nights are the hardest to get through.
I still dream of my other life,
Before I was given to my husband.
But I love him now, I am his wife.

But,
I remember when -

Yo era una nina novia.
El era un hombre mayor.
I wanted to run away fast, go back home,
But nothing was there for me anymore.

You are the erroneous mirror
also the distorted, reflected figure,
and the observer, the  root cause of all,
just, comically absurd,if you see straight.
But this plight, to you remains alien always.
as the logic works outside the bubble.

Morning mist frames her face, the contrast, he couldn't miss
a wild flower  fresh, bathed in dew drops, she becomes fulfillment.
A bee, as usual seeking honey,without being aware what awaits,
sleeps in her  chamber,couched in her love the whole night,
he stole her heart, she whispers, he keeps it as the fragrance
and the pollen smeared all over his being vowing never to remove,
a love it is, in essence different from all that he has hitherto known,
as if in a dream, stealing her heart,  he flies up to the ultramarine sky
all abuzz with love tunes , orchestration of nature, intoxicating,
his heart is full of light love fills, now this bee is even ready to die.

I once believed that everything was hope less
That nothing would ever work out for me... period
Things have changed now and i hope they stay that way.

The sacred language of the Birds,
Seething volcanos call out,
Like dreams of children,

The only way I find to see,
Anything at all,
Is a tent I call Holy,

In order to forget,
You must remember,
Lonely nights from November to December,

Search for whatever you can find,
Find whatever you define,
Or desire,
Like truth on the fire

I met a Mohawk Child,
Asking me questions about,
Lives of desire

Whenever thinking on you, it is fair to say,
Daydreams race, they pulse, and they thrive,
For I am thinking on you, every single day,
My soul singing, soaring, feeling truly alive.
Sometimes, I visualise us hugging; kissing,
Rocking you in my arms, holding you tight,
I shed no tears for the things I am missing,
Comforted by cuddles, deep into the night.
Imagining you, gives me enormous pleasure,
Sensing how love has flourished, and grown,
You might always be, unobtainable treasure,
My constant companion, I am never alone.
Sweet dreams my Muse, love endures, tis true,
I have hope, within hope, I always have you.

Copyright with Paul M Chafer