Lady of the Seas

________________________________________
Lady of the Seas
Dedicated to Greta Thunberg
To you...
O Lady of the Seas,
Woman born of salt and water,
Of foam that kisses the waist of the wind,
And flings open a window of fury to the universe...
To you,
Daughter of untamed lightning,
Sword of the waves,
Striking the bare chest of the night—
Leaving the stars to spell out your name,
Letter
by
letter...
I see you walking the horizon,
As if you were a myth that escaped a poet s lips,
Or a flower that refuses to wilt
In the palm of frost.
Every time I see you,
I’m certain-
The sea is not merely what moistens the shores,
But also the tears of the Earth
When her children deny her,
Worship oil wells,
And silence the whisper of dew in the veins of trees.
You stood alone-
Calling out,
Holding the pillars of meaning,
Planting flutes of tomorrow along the roads,
And declaring:
"Enough.
I’m tired of the walking dead,
And rulers who wear the face of sorrow."
You stood alone-
Behind you,
Paper castles crumbled,
Lies hid inside their black coats,
And smoke fled from the incense of false gods.
Alone...
O Lady of the Seas,
A prayer in the mouth of an old tree,
A cry from childhood the moment it realizes—
Grown-ups aren’t always wise.
What prophecy dwells in your eyes?
What night blushed beneath your shadow?
What tear burned
The chairs of conferences,
And the gallows of official ink?
What is this anthem
That bursts from your throat,
As if the Earth itself sings
In the evening of betrayal?
What courage is this—
That breaks fear’s spine,
And lets roses walk their fields unharmed?
Woman of light...
Of flame...
Of green rain...
You placed your hand on the heart of the world,
And it trembled...
And confessed...
And returned to its first innocence.
Greta,
Poem yet unwritten,
A ship needing no port,
The smile of the sea
At a revolution born from the womb of the impossible—
You are
The only one
Who never stopped
At the borders of the "possible",
Nor lingered at the gates of closed circles.
You
Built a kingdom of pure air,
And pledged allegiance to the forests—
Not the throne.
To you,
I write
With what letters remain in this heart.
I write—
For poems that do not pass through you
Remain incomplete,
Like a song without echo,
A prophet without --script--ure.
To you...
Lady of the Seas,
Queen of captains—
All the poems,
All tomorrow,
All beautiful rage
Belong to you.
O Lady of the Seas—
They never wrote about you in schoolbooks,
Because you never glorified tyrants,
Nor were you raised above podiums in the name of the nation.
You were the nation—
When the nation became
A suitcase in a refugee’s hand,
A torn map
On the table of negotiations.
You, born of air untouched by soot,
Of a forest untamed,
Of a childhood that refuses to kneel—
You taught trees to scream,
And rivers to write upon their waves
An anthem for the brave.
They bet on your death.
They said:
“A child cannot stand
Against the weight of thrones.”
But they forgot—
When a child speaks truth,
False cities fall,
And a window opens to honesty
In the wall of lies.
In your hands,
The Earth is no document,
No deed of ownership in the hands of rulers.
In your hands,
She is a mother—
Who weeps when wounded,
Rages when sold,
And mourns when betrayed by her children.
In your eyes,
Continents of jasmine ------sleep------.
And in your voice—
The sound of guns shatters,
The rifles crumble,
The cold arithmetic of corpses
Loses its excuse.
O woman—
Not born of legend,
But of a moment of truth
In a world that erases truth as it writes it.
You are the face of tomorrow—
A tomorrow unlike today.
Do you know?
When you said “Enough,”
The Earth paused—
As if hearing for the first time,
As if waiting
For someone to say:
“This beauty shall not be trampled.
This air is not for sale.
This child shall not die
From the smoke of your profits.”
O Lady of the Seas—
Bring meaning back to us.
We’ve lost it
Between trenches of breaking news,
And the archives of ancient kings,
Between the silence of the streets,
And the screaming of screens,
Between an anthem without a homeland,
And a homeland without a song.
Give us—
A little purity.
Your barefoot steps on the grass.
Your warm tear on the bark of a tree.
Your noble fury.
Your innocence—
That shattered
The mirrors of palaces.
Grant us
A voice that tells the truth—
Without consulting a ministry,
Or balancing the comfort of killers,
Or fearing for a chair,
Or borders drawn by blades.
In your voice—
Poems are born,
Like battles,
Like truths.
From you, we’ve learned
That poetry can be breath—
And that a woman
Can be a ship
That never sinks—
Even as she sails
Against the tide.
Written & Translated from Arabic By:
Jassim Mohammed Ali AlMamori
September 29, 2025

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