My Grandmother's diamond
I lost it, worn just days
Upon turning thirteen
My high school, acknowledged
With courage, a rebel devil
In a peridot, green
My brother, he gifted a claddagh
Wishing the hands to my heart, turned within
I brandished a band made of silver
And one of platinum, sliced thin
Two gold circles, once, were my parents
On special occasions, revealed
Pressed rose petals, encased, like a locket
And poison, in onxy, concealed
Collection, conveying a lifetime
Adorning the fingers that pray
There's one ring I've yet to be offered
And often, I dream to display
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is such a resonant symbol you identified - the ring is central to so many of our human experiences and encounters - Your title alone emphasizes how rings follow us through our lives. And the poem shows their importance changes over time as new ones replace old ones. I would not have thought of rings as a subject - that's part of your creativity, to see the larger significance of this adornment. I'm a devotee of Wagner's cycle of operas, THE RING OF THE NIBELUNG, in which a Ring of Power brings out the best and worst in people.