Tonima, a daughter of the earth whom I know,
Lives plaintively upon the meadow,
As if she leads life in her own quiet way,
Pursuing her own truths day by day.
True to her heart and real in her deal,
She tries to convey what her gestures feel.
She lives like a plaintiff, yet never commits
A wrong as she rises to reach the summits.
She is the daughter of earth, like a cloud,
Descending with truth to speak out aloud,
As a gentle rain shower that offers new hope,
Leaving old odds behind her to cope,
Stepping right into the sun’s burning rhymes,
Which glow at the door through difficult times.
She leads her life still, like a quiet, dim light,
Rooted in echoes of deep, silent night,
Set on the truth with an optimistic spark,
Like green plants that flourish right under the dark.
She rejoices in the struggle beneath a clear sky,
Though some lag in the search and the shy,
Ascending the peaks past the dark clouds above,
To move down the path with a mystical love.
Like a lost kind of art that knows every mystery,
She whispers of meadows and fields in her history,
With parked views on thoughts that are honest and real.
She passes through dreams, where her quiet reveals
An image she leaves and forever will sprinkle,
Bright as the starlight and clear as a tinkle.
