"And I who hoped that Phoebus's divine mouth would not defy
his promise... he himself killed my child ".
On hearing the news about the death of Achilles
the Nereid - mother ripped her garments apart.
EVERY PART OF HER BODY HEAVES UP ITS OWN ANGUISHED VOICE:
The tragic mother’s eye is subjugated to the irreversible destiny.
The intolerable pain in her chest revolts,
putting to doubt the divine credibility
the naïveté of her faith had served until then:
"And I, who had hoped, that Phoebus’s divine mouth
could not lie…".
A message to all recipients is: "Gods do lie".
She has collected the member
of her son’s annihilation on her abdomen,
wrapping it in a contortion of extreme despair.
Her will is like a real vortex in her trying to absorb it
into her bowels and be impregnated by it a new while
she carries his body away to the white island of the Gods.