The Isle of Flowers

Indies of dreams, rose-covered West and atolls of beauty,
Sprung up from the sea like lights from obscurity.
Like the peaks of Mount Lebanon, valleys and rocks,
Waves of migration have come there in flocks.
One isle like our Lebanon has mountains that stand,
Narrow plains full of orchards, with rich fertile land.
Fields full of plantains, three times a replica
Of Lebanon’s surface but facing America.
From high-rising peaks to valleys so deep
With abundance of produce the people to keep:
Sugar cane, coffee, fruits and thick maize,
Fish not to be counted that swarm in the bays.
But wretched the people, unlettered and poor,
Brought once as slaves from the African shore.
Simple and friendly, some virtues they kept
Though burdened with chiefs both corrupt and inept.
Threatened we’ve been with change brought about
By vast global warming, pollution and drought,
With melting of ice and the rising of tides
From greenhouse gases and much else besides.
Then sudden, one Tuesday, as day turned to night,
Doom scourged the land with hideous fright.
Terror rose up from deep under the ground,
And cast down the cities with grinding sound.
In only some seconds such ruin was wrought
As Europe had seen when great battles were fought.
Walls made of concrete were sundered and fell,
Mangling the people who screamed in their hell.
The Creoles were helpless, crushed under the weight,
Cowering in darkness they awaited their fate.
With no water, no food, they sent up their cries
While death smote the island awaiting supplies.
Corpses by thousands, they littered the ground
While those who were living made piteous sound.
Those buried in darkness too slowly were found
Though helpers came rushing to open each mound.
Their dogs followed scent and machines came behind
To rescue the victims, all those they could find.
Mothers in turmoil were seeking in vain
For husbands and children with efforts insane.
But every continent heard how they cried
And help was rushed in from every side.
By air and by sea it came in a flow
Though for the victims far too slow,
And meanwhile they suffered from ruthless crime
From those who exploited this terrible time.
Haiti means mountains, each raising its head;
We see you in chaos and wish that instead
You’ll shake off your sorrows and once again live
With civilized structures and the freedom they give.
Both our fair countries have landscapes sublime
So we wish you all courage and a far better time.
Multiply schools and strive from this date
To form well your people and build a strong State.
After the horror, the world’s at your side,
So we wish you well that you rise up with pride.

French by Joseph Matar – Translation: K.J. Mortimer