Motherland Haiti, so sweet so precious, your milk run smooth like a continuous line adding and subtracting. When I close my eyes, gazing beyond your horizon, your beauty enchants me, coated with garnish. Similar to paint, it fell in comparison to your impervious surface. That smooth shiny form varnish softly accumulating around your mountain top. Your mist gathering harvesting your rich history, summoning an endless ooze surge down your side. Ensue by your culture, flux by your desire your land spark a gushful stem exceeding your neighbor.

Motherland Haiti, emerging from the south your sun light comes bringing the wake, your clouds whistling through my bed shearing then appearing your glow, buzzing a melodious sound. The market packs before your seventh hand, the rooster rises singing the pledge, as darkness sets within your caves. The mountains and waves calms gracefully luring your physical beauty, beguiling an elegant array of exquisition. Your dirt nurture the seeds and words, forming the varies the part of your dialect, computing them through a vernacular of specific regions. French, Arabic, Spanish,Taíno and
African now spoken through a mixture of woven spring.


Part II

Motherland Haiti, with each passing day your forests perish beyond recognition, your roots fade breaking the ties of present, future and past. Fury storm ravishing the land, raping your abundant resources, thousands perish within your soul swallowing whole by the waters. Your vulnerable infrastructure shocks due pass poverty, a horde of unstable government prank the very people who elected them. The land sickens each passing minute detriment beyond a point of return. Your decomposing glory fermented by a lost hope, it was a matter of time before your compensation underwent reform.


Part III

Mother land Haiti, what's happening to you, your ground shakes grating a sound, breaking the earth. Your people quake running around, laying saddened fading away, sorrow stringing their hearts. Your sun always shines above your clouds, no matter what it looks like from the ground. Mass graves, piled up, piled tall, piled high lingering with odor, that permeates smell stench across your green valleys, perceiving through noses of common people, reeking. That toxic perfume so rich and so strong repulsing the stomach and fouls to the soul. Delicate and pleasing fragmented hope soldiers arrive that olfactory impression blossom with joy.



















Motherland Haiti, standing above, your land bleeds a flow and covered the ocean, your breath bates on tender hooks while butterflies stew fervently at bottom. Your children lying and dying around, grieving and mourning their agonize lost. Crying and drying their eyes, waiting and sitting under your sun, your heart gladdens giving it light. Nearest dearest rank and file, people working toward one common goal. Praising shouting afar blessing, setting luck rebuilding our home. Your land granting the second chance, shaping and allowing refine, giving and glowing your love motherland Haiti.