The Old Women Of The Ocean

To the solemn sea
the old women come
With their
shawls
knotted around their necks
With their
fragile feet cracking.

They sit down
alone
on the shore
Without moving
their eyes or their hands
Without changing
the clouds or the silence.

The obscene sea
breaks and claws
Rushes downhill
trumpeting
Shakes its bull's beard.

The gentle old ladies
seated
As if in a transparent boat
They look
at the terrorist
waves.

Where will they
go
and where have they
been?
They come from
every corner
They come from
our own lives.

Now they have
the ocean
The cold
and burning
emptiness
The solitude
full of flames.

They come from
all the pasts
From houses which
were fragrant
From burnt-up evenings.

They look,
or don't look,
at the sea
With their walking sticks
they draw signs
in the sand
And the sea
erases
their calligraphy.

The old women
get up
and go away
With their fragile
bird feet
While the waves
flood in
Travelling
naked
in the wind.

by Pablo Neruda

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Arctic
Sea Ice
At
Historic Low

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MacKenzie
River
Warming

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Sade, Pearls, lyrics here.

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