how can I read this silence, its meaning, temperature and flow,
how can I adjust my wings to the narrow passage through another night?
cries echo in hollow hearts,
dissipative systems flood the world with a false sense of harmony,
filigree words swarm around the black beehive of what remains untold.
it is never too late for love, he whispers in my ear
in an almost extinct language he tries so hard to keep alive.
but how can I trust him? he comes from a world
where money melts in the mouth like honeycomb
and desire is plump with gold;
he is not even aware that our existence here, on earth
is the somber negative of another life -
all luminous energy and gravity-defying dance.
look, it is waiting for us right there,
behind the red paper curtain.
improbable et surtout
chimérique intersection
du réel et de l’irréel, de l’ici et de l’ailleurs;
le relatif et l’absolu se croisent
au delà des paradoxes de la parole,
la pensée est souvent aveugle aux échanges sensibles avec le monde:
les dieux déjouent le concept de relativité,
ils nous montrent brutalement le néant,
le frémissement de l’obscurité.
commençons le voyage, la traversée du désir et de la mort…
la mémoire du paysage est tout ce qui compte
- la naissance d’une histoire, une vraie question de l’humilité -
il te faudra ouvrir les portes de la mort pour sentir
la vie qui éclate en toi comme une explosion de lumière,
comme une pluie de ton sang: tes mains seront propres
mais froides comme la neige…
between the quest and the star of hopes
between the mind and the dissipating reflection in the mirror
the cradle of dreams arches high, a vision of worlds yet to come -
a music in different keys, flashes of light, waves of love,
territories yet uncharted, a journey (necessary) -
yes, you must know by now there are
no easy solutions,
no simple denouement to this story;
choices, attitudes, a merry-go-round of
blessings and little joys spinning in the mist,
in the dark corridor between your thoughts
and le mur des lamentations.
you cannot touch them or count them;
can’t you see how pain
slices open the hours
a row of gutted fish in a sunday market?
are you still looking for truth?
go away, leave,
spread your wings inward and
let your clumsy flight slash your heart:
butterfly trapped in a bottle…
