REBIRTH

A prose poem about the Chilean miners experience.

Mighty Earth traps me in its grasp; crushing eons of accumulated time descend around my fragile shell. Terror consumes me as once living screams echo off dead stone.  Choking dust strangles me; fate surrounds me with a bubble of life.  Dark as the darkest death, my coffin lid 2000-feet thick, I pray to heaven, although I am closer to hell. 

 

  Mumbled sounds, I’m not alone.  I feel flesh on my flesh, a hand reaching out, lives immerge, then more.  Surrounded by brothers, children of my youth, now partners in tragedy.  We shall die as one, sealed in the warm steamy womb of Mother Earth, our sustainer, now executioner.  We cry helpless, hopeless reaching out to god, the god that we ignore in the loud noises of the cantina, as we drink and dance to conceal our fear.  Now entombed I feel god is near, listening.  “Oh, please save me and my brothers.”

 

  Some talk of hope, “They will not forsake us.”  I gather courage from my brothers, as a tree absorbs light.  Faith keeps us alive.  Little food or water to sustain our bodies, without faith our souls will die and all is lost.  We hold our comrades and nurture them like babies, with tender words and soft caresses.  The strong sustain the weak, encouraging; building a framework for hope. 

  

  “Silence! Listen,” sound feeble, weak, but sound!   A new determination swells within.  “We must survive! They are coming!”  We plan, organize, optimize our chances.  “We are men, miners, proud, not sniffling rabbits!”  Sound increasing day by day, and with a burst a break through, umbilical to the world, a lifeline!  Our joy immeasurable, life once again baths us with sustaining gifts: food, water, light, the blessed present of human voices speaking through the belly of the earth.

 

  Hope explodes with joyous reverberations in our breasts.  But wait, we are still captives of solid stone, encased by the fickle whims of fate.  Crushing stone, our ceiling, gravity the trigger for instantaneous death.  Our loved ones witness to our demise heard through  wire, massive sound then stillness, the cold quiet of death.  We swallow hard as one, our brains are in perfect sink:  “Its not over yet.”   We regroup and steel ourselves for many days ahead of waiting, knowing our survival anything but a sure thing.

 

  New sounds develop as our birth canal takes form. Days and endless days go by, first one, then another and after that, another and then some more.  Tedium upon tedium, waiting, listening, anticipating.  Knowing the world is now watching, we think about our lives to come as we prepare for birth.  What is to come?

 

  The world breaking through once again our birth imminent; a passage 2000 feet long awaits.  Concealed in our womb we embrace knowing our seed was strong, we survived.  I break my placental bonds and prepare for my birth.  Encased in steel I begin the long dangerous passage.  I see light!  I feel fresh air!  I’m born into the world crying with joy!

 

Reviews

[Shelley Holt-Lowrey]

Maybe I didn't read this cause I didn't feel like FREAKING CRYING!!! WOW. And all along there beat within you the heart of the person who could create something as deeply moving as this. My summer sun surfing fellow Californiate friend. Dude! This is piece is truly amazing. Beautiful. Your heart beat with these men for those moments. WOW. Thank you for continuing to push me over to this. wow. Humbled by the talent of this writer.

[J. J. Nightingale]

Wow .. the best descriptive I've read in a while .. So many "New" thoughts here ..
Interesting from start to finish ...

Jasmine ..

[R J Askew]

Like 'my coffin lid 2000 feet thick' and 'our sustainer, now executioner'. Also like your 'framework of hope'. (Hmmm, actually mistyped 'frameword'.) Also like 'Hope explodes.'

And I found myself reading the poem as if it is a poem talking about the birth of a poem. So 'We are men' becomes 'We are verses'. This reading made the last verse esp brilliant to read as I visualised the birt of a poem. Yes! Isn't that last line exactly how it is when a great poems becomes? And for sure a great poem is worth far more than a city full of people. What use are people other than to read poems? It is clear that they are their most alive when reading poems as poems are essences of beauty made language and language is the greatest jewel in all that defines us.

Hell, I got carried away! But your stirring words made it possible *bows*

[dkej743]

WOW! that is one deeply penatrating poem about life and death! keep wrtiting you are fantastic!!!

[Sweets]

"We shall die as one, sealed in the warm steamy womb of Mother Earth, our sustainer, now executioner. "
"we are still captives of solid stone, encased by the fickle whims of fate."
Your words are just so....strong (there should be a word to describe them)
Loved the message in here, it's very powerful and captivating !
Wonderful work, i'll rate it a 100/100 =)

[Barbara Walker]

This is very powerful and gripping. A great description of a horrible occurance. Bravo!

[Lady Of The Wolves]

Whoaa!!! This is amazing! It's so deep how you made the feeling of rebirth in this piece! This is just amazingly captivating! Love it! =)

[Donald Meikle]

Excellent write and perfect title

[Revolutionary]

They say being born is the most painful thing you will ever do.I am sure even rebirth can be painful.I love this poem.I have a morbid interest in death though

[J]

remarkable realism in your descriptions -- good grief, i can smell the fear as thick as dust strangling lungs. the umbilical cord analogy especially demonstrative of survival completely dependent on an outside source. i cann.o.t. imagine facing down and triumphing over panic in a situation such as this .... ultimately leaving behind all the possible modes of death is truly rebirth. [big gulp of air] wow. scared me to death. i never go where there is even a remote possibility i couldn't breath. [scuba diving, submarines, caves. but that's just me]

well done, zeek!