Ode to islet sailors

Archipelagic violent waves
that dance in wind’s insane gale;
a choreography eternal,
a sight most beautiful, most brutal.

Archipelagic taming hero;
man made of salt and rightful pride,
with gaze clear you ride the sea,
how do you scorn mundane needs?

Archipelagic island tiny,
what is your secret, how do you breed,
men that are mortal and divine,
women whose will command the sky?

“The wind my mountains turn to razors.
The sea my rock eats and corrupts.
Nature’s trees prayers are singing.
My children the archipelagos command.

For high in mountaintops most wild,
for deep where stone the flesh can shred,
in forests pure that reverence inspire,
my children are equal to God.”