'Cradle Of Gold, Bed Of The Street' Poem by Antonella Wong Alcedo

She was born among silk, marble, and flowers,
under fine lamps, surrounded by honors.
Isabella, a princess without a throne or sword,
looked down on other people's lives with disdain.

The street children, their tired faces,
were, to her, only misguided beings.
'Why don't they try harder? ' she used to say,
not knowing that one day... she would have to flee.

She grew up in dances, luxury, tranquility,
but her soul was empty.
And destiny, which sees and balances everything,
began to turn like a vibrating wheel.

The gold rusts, the marble splits,
luck breaks, the banner vanishes.
Her father in a bed, her mother absent,
and she, in ruin, fallen headlong.

She looked for a thousand ways out, but all were closed,
friends in glasses, borrowed promises.
And so, among shadows, aimless and homeless,
the lady of before was only a trace.

Through streets she once looked upon with contempt,
she walked without pride, without a roof, without value.
No one saw her, no one heard her,
the city moved on... and she fell silent.

One ordinary night, the cold embraced her,
like a stern mother who never loved.
She closed her eyes with a sigh,
without a name, without glory, without anyone to give her a turn.

And at dawn, on a banal note,
her death was part of the usual noise.
No one ever knew her hidden truth:
the princess of gold... died without life.

She was born with a cradle of gold,
But she died on the same streets that
She once looked upon with contempt.