World & Roads

8/14/2019 World & Roads

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By : Dr. Aziz mohamed

World and roadsWorld and roads

Log books


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World and roadsWorld and roads

It is our duty to open around us to them large

treasures of the spirit in the world, to climb theverests of the African heart still hidden up to nowin the beliefs of the lapse of memory and it is why Ising on Africa, Africa which I know and which I likeso tenderly.Let finish to me on a capital note of materialism, usas a race, suffered from a great occasional physicaldeprivation by slavery, the imperialism and all theother obeying forms of the physical constraint.

but the physical inaptitudes result from theseforms of aggression are not nothing compared tothe enormous intellectual losses and morals whichwe have undergone during years, in truth of badconditions physics, such as the forced labour.it must be clear for us however that the thingsagainst which in so much than race, we must resistwithout compromise are the last vestiges of theaggression intellectual and cultural which exists ofour time, those are more insidious because theirtests are perhaps even paralysing than theimperialism and the colonialism, we can see thepolitical imperialism because the aspect of itschains is obvious, but the cultural imperialismwhich comprises theremainders devastators of political subordination isa blind force which depreciates our traditionaltreasures and even some time returns to usashamed of being found associated them in time ofthe supposedly elegant cultures of the west, manypeople, exasperated by the apparent inequalitieswhich exist between the two cultures African andEuropean threw often their weapons in despair ofcause and declared that we should nothing have tomake with our past because it appears relativelylate and because that would take centuries to raiseit on the level of the Western models, they seize


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any occasion to extract our rich person culture fromthe all powerful ones from last and sweeping gray

dust of the centuries, to expose this one under hislately found splendour so that the world the wayand admires it.

Letters and humanityLetters and humanity

Certain people seek with sum of money our rightinalienable to humanity and forget that our goodwhich crossing different ways, is not less glorious.

if we return to our thought, if we do not even takeus not to us of initiative to make share a worldexternal of what we have in our own ground, theWestern world will not appreciate probably anymanner the values which we have, our music can beforeign only for inexceres ears in the same waythat of another languages will appear we it with us,before we did not have the occasion to learn them,we must recognize, however that the value of ourmusic and our languages as a universal heritagedepends much on our aptitude to interpret them forthe external world, thus we can transform regionaltreasures into a world heritage which we would beproud to freely divide with our neighbors.The respect for the political power is large, it is thesame for scientific discoveries and for greatexploits of physical endurance like the crossing ofthe Atlantic but it no doubt has there that the worldalso holds into large regards the efforts of theindividuals to reveal complex trots of the spirit forthe benefit of humanity.The results in this field lead to a largercomprehension of our problems and create theharmony and the mutual respect without which wecannot taste the discoveries of science, nor toappreciate the pleasure of the realization whichmust come from the climbing of the tops of theHimalayas.


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Collections of historyCollections of history

The collections in the libraries of history whichshould get for our future novelists an almostinexhaustible source of inspiration, moreover, therich person proverbs of varied African tribescontain logical and philosophy in a manner can bewithout compassion everywhere else.

As for the music and poetry, the true one andsincere rate of a powerful melody and words, wehave of it a reserve which is probably richer whichvery other in the whole world.There are two dangers to be considered in ourreturn towards the past, one is of internal originand the other external one, the internal dangerrises from the satisfaction which one tests with theinvocation of the past, demonstration of a narrow

chauvinism which applauds without discussion theobsolete designs of the indigenous life, this is sometime the result of a certain complex of inferioritywhich hates the display of the weaknesses againstfresh impulse and of the competition and to preferto remain precisely in the unchanged thickets ofthe translation, the purists of the language, thereaditionnalists in music and art and theconservatives in marire of clothing belong to us

with this group, they kill progress and make appearridiculous the innovation by their sufficientattitude, enemies of new.It ya also species also destroying of criticisms ofoutside which regards the civilization of the grco-Romans as the exclusive rampart of the Westernworld, those which support that philosophy ofAristote is beyond


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understanding of people of other nations, that theaxioms of Euclide or the music of Chopin are thingswasted on the African or Asian spirits because thereactions are derived of different origin, can be

odd.

New conscienceNew conscience

The African cultures as bases in a manner of writing

original, the movement for the expression of theAfrican ideas in an original writing is regardedmore and more as a revolution against theoccident, I would prefer not do not speak aboutrevolts parce that the force of this movement isespecially constructive, with a powerful passion forcreation and a new conscience of its origin, thismovement does not have a relationship withviolence or hatred and it is not interested not morein the kind of destruction which usually appears theday before the revolutions, the only manner can bewhere one can think of a revolt against theoccident is the width with which this actionmecontement expresses serious in front of themean production of original literary work andcreators by African.a general study of the efforts tried by African intheir literary past would probably go up that thework of these pioneers was almost entirely basedon the processes and the models accepted by theirWestern fatherlands of adoption thus the Africanwriters in the occupied territories wrote in foreignlanguage and mainly about ideas and of situationscharacteristic of the dominating nation and otherswrote according to their affiliation colonial, it existseven consigned in writing a draft of Latinphilosophy of the more scholars.one admits that for many years to come and until


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national languages largely accepted can bedeveloped, this process of foreign car expression inlanguage must be accepted, it is one problem forwhich one cannot find solution immediate, but a

concerted and determined effort must be made forthe examination carefully, in criticism and withoutpassions, because a larger evil could appear of asudden rupture and without discussion of with ourimmediate past, if a similar rupture occurred, therewould be a serious hiatusin the literary production, and intellectual progress, can be literary groups in Africa will carry could bestopped an urgent interest to the need for studying

this problem.Writing and monotonyWriting and monotony

We owe occupied ourselves, immediately of a majorproblem for which there could be a solution whichwould be largely rewarded, this problem is theunpleasant fact that the majority of the books onone or a subject of Africa was written by foreignerswho write according to the particular poetry whichinterests them, African protested against this stateof affairs for a long time , and we must now makean effort to remove it, in my own country a newcompany of writers started with energy to deal withthis point fable and made of sound to better securethe active contest of the offices of education of thegovernment, missions and institutions deprived byencouraging the production by African of aliterature in the community and elsewhere, in truth,it goes without saying that the principal stimulantfor a creative feature in Africa should emanate fromour own country, it exists in this one a richness ofculture which can become the principal source of alarge literary heritage, one finds there, in themiddle same of Africa, fresh sources of a new lifethat nature holds in the world tired and overworkedape the dislike of the uniformity to relieve it of thetrouble and monotony.


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The African writers can be proud of this largeheritage, something which is rich and fresh and forwhich the world waited so a long time, Africanwhich must write romantic stories and of

imagination not being able to have a treasurericher than our history, full with alive images ofwise thoughts of sentences which depict themobiles and the goals in the human relations.

Hegel and AfricaHegel and Africa

Hegel, known as some share which the slave shouldnot only break the chains, one needs as it reducesthe image of it of pieces as well in his own spirit asin that of his be-Master before being able to bereally free, to some extent theprincipal current of arts and letters American, aswe saw, one does not manage to reflect the blackwith dignity and in his total psychologicalintegration, to think purely and simply to join thiscurrent or to think of our creative effort as beingsimply part of this current would be equivalentfalling into a very broad measurement under theinfluence from its direction and perpetuating itscultural prototypes partly, we must make thedistinction between a control of the contents andtechniques of a literature and the danger of atender which immole with this literature, it is towrite by continuation of a personally felt need, atthe same time it would take care of the creativesources contained in its tendency and would bedefined according to the major sources its being,because it could discover them in the direction ofits particular interests of its talents and of itsreactions emotional, it must seek its inspiration inwhat the life in this company meant for him and, ifit finds that productive, in the history, themythology and the folklore of Africa, but it is only


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by stressing the development of its utility in thisexperiment that it will be able to give ultimately itscontribution more supplements with the unit, insideand at the outside of the nation.

Because this cultural prison of which we spokedrew up a wall between him and its origins, it istowards these origins which the artist is attractedto recover the plenitude of itself that it lost.

Negro-American literatureNegro-American literature

Contradiction of the negro-American literature, ofwhich the only way of approaching the study is to

state three theorems which rise so narrowly andlogically one and the other that none of them canbe connected separatelyone can admit that one cannot do it for only onewithout the others and to reject only oneconversely of them is to destroy them all the three.The first theorem is that the literature, statementnegro of America isprimarily American, so much so that it could not bedetached from the whole of the literature withoutcarrying a serious damage to the one and the other,as an instrument complementary to analyseshistory and social, and inas long as joint of all the so complex experiment ofthis nation.Secondly, this literature reigns of America has onlylittle to do with the pure literature, i.e. esthetics asa theory or which practises.One wrote and one it still thinks that the negroliterature of America is addressed as much to thecognitive spirit, that the spirit volitive and acting ofthe man, it associates, in a precarious balance, thepresent and the conditional one, the dream andnullity, the judgment and the payment, it is worriedmany the reasoning and persuasion, agent andeven pleadings of exception, which besides in veryoften the case in the American literature.It ya however in this literature an aesthetic leaven


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which to raise it well with the top of the emotionaland imaginative level of the simple pragmatism orpropaganda.The theoretical theorem, which rises, of the two

first wants that the literature nerre of Americakeeps its current direction during at least anothergeneration, direction, which will have to remainquite different from that where engaged the negroliterature of Africa.

That what the jazz isThat what the jazz is .The majority of people have only one surface

knowledge of what one is really the jazz, and itthere not place to reproach them.With the American libraries, there exists certainlyof impressive studies onperhaps the jazz, but much of them is in languageforeign and it N (does nothave of them there only one which concretizes adefinition precise or at leastcompletely satisfactory, jazz, after having in vain

lost several hours, with reading these volumes, onecan be tempted to think with Armstrong louis thatif there is the duty to seek, one has no means ofknowing it ya howevercertain things which the jazz is surely not, it doesnot have anything to see for example with thismusic sirupeuse and commercial of the populardance bands or 'rock' roll " the day is neitherstagnant, nor standardized, an air of song becomesjazz only when one executant adapts it, the modeland makes him say what it wishes, not by playingan air standardized such as it was written, but byinsufflating to him a new life thanks to his creativecapacity and its originality, he worried more feelingthat form of the emotion that melody, theimprovisation is the sap even jazz, one could nevertranscribe all that is played, because the artist ofthe jazz creates in is carried out, the jazz was


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during its history in hut with incredible prejudices,and that parce that which he was born in lanes ofnew the orle years, resulting from the negrospirituals and the songs of work.

Il est frquent aujourd'hui de voir d'minentsmusiciens contribuer faire mieux comprendre lejazz et faire disparatre quelques-uns desmalentendus qui l'entourent, bien que certaines deces derniers subsistent, ainsi, le prjug selonlequel les musiciens de jazz seraient des illettrs dela musique alors que , comme je l'ai montr plushaut, le jazz a tellement voluer que les musiciensont acquis une grande connaissance de la thorie,

de l'harmonie et du contrepoint, quelques amateursse plaignent mme que la faon de jouer de lanouvelle cole est tellement crbrale, qu'elleressemble davantage un exercice technique qu'ade la musique.

Revolution in the jazzRevolution in the jazz

A revolution occurred in the kingdom of the jazzwhen the concerto for and symphony orchestra jazzband of Rolf Liebermann, a Swiss type-setter wascarried out with the royal festival hall of London,under the direction to sirEugene Gossens with the contest of the symphonyorchestra and the dance band of the BBC, ifsomebody had predicted a similar innovation it yathirty years, i.e. the harmonious fusion of a wholeof jazz and a symphony orchestra,in the most elegant concert hall of England, it hadbeen treated of insane, the concerto in questioncontains four forms of jazz, the jump, the blues, theboogie-woogie and the mumbo, connected bymusical reasons, the creators who sought fullerforms of composition sometimes tried by all kindsof clever means to reconcile the concerting musicand African polyphonic science, but in vain, RolfLiebermann, him, although it does not haveanything very again to say, with successful the


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challenge, would not be this that by the charm ofits freshness, this work shows vastest humandimensions to which the jazz can claim, it appearsthere also this modern form of the hedonism which

starting from the simple physical stimulant of thenotes and the vice of the noise and the fury,destille a symbol of transparent perfection, thesphere of activities of the two orchestras arecomplementary there, if although expressedpassions raise one the other, which makes itpossible the unit to strike like the lightning and tosigh like a Zephyr.

The Great louisThe Great louisWith time, the jazz achieved miracles, it isAmerican who knew almost more success at thetime of his voyage of artist in Europe, that manydiplomats have to visit, I want to speak about thetrumpet player Louis Armstrong, it wasaccomodated with enthusiasm at the time of hisarrival to the royal festival hall, of extremelyserious criticisms, even preserving of the membersof the royal family, the hundreds of thousands ofamateurs of jazz paid their tribute with this geniusmusical, the largest characters acclaimed it like oneof glories of our time, if large east power of thejazz, during its first appearance in 19360-2, withthe conservative in the English public, much oflisteners leftthe room before the end in the concert in themiddle of the uproar and of thewhistles, it is today more interesting to note thechange operated by time.It is really thanks to Armstrong louis, that the jazzis at this appreciated point, it has a crowd ofadmirors in the world that do not cease analyzingall its

recordings.the State Department in Washington became aware


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of the utility, for ends of propaganda, this productof African origin which is the jazz over thesehundred sixty-eight hours of emission per week,the 'voice of America ", devotes fourteen of them to

the jazz, i.e. two per day, an official European withvery on this subject noticing that with the jazz, youwill be made always more friends the StateDepartment organizes, for the musicians of jazz ofthe rounds in concert abroad " not with a strictlyfinancial aim,but to support the exchanges of friendships.During one of its last rounds Louis and hisorchestra had received a delirious reception, it was

the last .....!

MUSICSupreme forces of which I am fanatic,

I learned how to build my life.On airs melancholic persons,

By merry melodies.I learned that all was not finished

Much more extremely than of the words, anenormous feeling of freedom,

Attracted me, made shivered then envoteforever.

Such is the reason of my life.

Music

More than one passionIt built my hopes, prevented me from sinking,With fact of running my tears then dried.

A real need without conditions.All, around me is solidified, I let my heart be

expressed;The music which delivers me of all sorrows,

I have only to close the eyes and to let myselfcarry


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It makes me become queen.A grand opera in Paris or an air of guitar close to a

wood fire,Cordial agreements,

Against the fresh air of the dawn.It is in all cases my light and my voice.On a point of organ I finish this simple text,

To let to you escape, during time that it remainsyou

With the Sound of the music

With the sound of the musicI let myself transport

Towards a fantastic worldWhere it is allowed to dream

I leftIn this marvellous universe

Where all is magicWhere all the world is happy

I breathe each noteFurious I taste each agreement

So far it transports meIf free is my body

The words learn to meAll kinds of things on the lifeAnd what the love brings me

All that one had never said meTo like not to cry

This music will never drop to meIt will continue to learn to me

To influence me.

My music

Beauty of the sound, I made the discoveryWith my desire for knowing the keys of the music

Precociously the doors are open for meWith the violin of fortune like ancient times


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With this instrument I tested feelingsMaking me think of composing on all that I likeWith first note, not of pause, even by moment

My music is composed for a supreme grace.

I granted my heart to the violin of the nightTo play of the bow slipping on the windThousand sounds enchanters to drive out the

troubleOn the proud hairs of the burning dispach riders

All is music with which likes to hearSimple notes on a beautiful range

That sounds splendid to let the heart splitAll is magic to let itself carry

When I had the blues or the heart in fadoWhen my heart is heavy or feeling rateConcern in head or of the troubles full the back

My music takes shape in jubilation or silenceI compose for my pleasure and my friends

Sat between the colchiques ones forgetting timeA Mozart genius in me is deadened

Violin between shoulder and chin

My skilful fingers go up my style of rangeAre only velvet with the flown away notesWill try to allure young girls and ladies

The experts escape to me, but go me enjler.

Gold fingers

My small fairy with the gold fingersYou cheeks and you cheeks still

Notes of musicMagic songs

Small end of womanYou fill with wonder the heartsAnd makes beat our heartsWith passion and softness

You are our championAnd always you astonish us


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God gave you the gift to likeOf reading and learning how to play

This evening you very gave

Making us, of joy, to cryOffering your tenderness to usOh! Beautiful and soft princess

LOVE FOR AFRICA

Speak about the children of Africa.Africa speaks about this so beautiful continent, that

the sunlight shines

through Africa of is in west of north in the south.Africa speaks about this wise old man who does not

need to speak to include/understand what hewanted, its heart said all.

Africa speaks about the light which lights the wayof these children.

Africa speaks about the light which illuminates theeyes of these children who

do not ask god to have a good life.Africa speaks about your charm and your softness

which the world does not want to admit it.Africa speaks about this continent at the place or

people are happy.Africa speaks about love, of hatred.

Africa speaks about fidelity and the inaccuracy.Africa speaks about happiness and misfortune.Africa speaks about freedom and the inequality.

Africa speaks about justice and the injustice.Africa speaks about you pain.Africa speaks about misery.

Africa speaks about my past.Africa speaks about our dubious future.

Africa speaks about our ancestors.Africa speaks about courage.

Africa speaks about the war and about after war.Africa speaks about the tyrants and the


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dictatorship.Africa speaks about martyrdoms and the

revolutionists.Africa speaks about your fear, I will help you to

convince it.Africa is poor but rich in happiness 'in beauty,tradition, dialect and history.

I am African, Africa my parents, my country Africa,my heart Africa, my fatherland Africa, my Africa

nation

My Africa

Where a lady sawOr white or red

With the form and the faceWith half also divine

That a African young ladyIn the soft extase

Of a merry lady?With which is this baby?It is the baby of the mother of Mohammed

Put under the palm treeWhere you come from the spines to profusion

Put it under a kapokierJoyeusement look at kofi

Who will be struck by a branch of the kapokierAfrica sinks?

Me which high royal pyramidsAnd maintenance richnessesCsars conquerors

In my tempting pressure?Africa sinks?

That rocked the doubtful childCivilization

On the mobile dreamsFrom the feeder Nile


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And gave to the incipient nationsOf the west

With the present GreekThe plugging glare of iron and steel

Darkens some time the nonmental valueAlso when I scornMy arcs and my arrows of last time

And hardly troubles me about iron and steelOne calls me dark in the whole world

Me, much more serious than the cold steel and ironIs quiet art

To think togetherAnd of living together

What let us wait to sing itself together

Fields of the letters

Saturday on the seventh street

Full-clotheshangers women gray of a hair in

pullovers of SundayTo move by the nuances bronzings of their cabinsCakes of surplus of curve which they made cook

with the furnace at the houseThey look at fixedly downwards on the sleep of

stuffed cabbagesThey stir up with the enormous spoons sauerkraut

and the potato pellets


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Cooked as these dishes were made cook abovedeeply

Misty plains among the noises of the horsesClose to the fields of the black cotton soil on other

side of the sphereThat only oldest think them you recallTo look to the bottom of their windows in the world

Where everyone is nowNothing the young people still cried with the odor

CabbagesThese sheets all the face

Nothing young people after long voyagesWeeks in ships

And fixedly looking at the strange coasts by the fogin the first lightAt summer recognized by the vapor of sauerkraut

It is older than no matter whom who sawThus on the street they play the music

The EC what they do not rememberThey sing places which they did not know

They dance in new costumes under the windowsIn the odor of cabbages of the fields

Nobody sawThe wish of marriageI was not held with the furnace bridge, I was heldWith the foot of the chorus takes a step, with my

liked,And the minister was held on the higher stage

To hold the open bible. The churchWas wood, ivory painted inside, aucuns nobody

GodsPerfectly cleaned stable. It was night,

Arises external, a mud ditch,And interior, of the roofs, flies

Fell on the opened bible, and the ministerInclined and swept them with far to him. We were

heldClose to one the other, crying slightly

With fear and fear. In the truth, we had marriedThis first night, in the bed, we had been


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Married by our bodies, but now us was heldIn history this which our bodies had said,

End of the lips for saying end of the lips, we saynow said publicly,

Collected together, death. We were heldBeing held by the hand, however I alsoHeld like so only, during one moment,Right before the wish, although taken

The front years, took. It was a wishPresent and future, but me smelled

To have a certain contact distant pastOr the distant past on top, I felt

The phantom quiet, dry, crying of my

The marriage of the parents there, some shareIn space can be the luminous one ofDownward flies, rebounding slightly

Because it struck to give up all the others, then wasswept

Far. I felt as if I had comeTo claim promise to it softness that I had implied

Of their acidity; and while I hadCome, congenitally makes indignant, to request.

But, I had worked around this hourAll my life. And then it was timeTo speak it offered to me, no matterWhat, its life. It is very that I have

, this evening, accept the giftI had wished ardently for the word that I had

accepted it,As if being asked whether I breathe. Do I take?

I. I take because it to take were to usPractical of this. Do you support this pleasure? I.

The league of the minor charactersThe principal character rests on its bed of

childhoodNaming very which is the outward journey ex work,

the ex-wife,Ex-better friend and apprehends finally

The breakdown that we felt coming since thechapter five.


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When its doctor calls with test results, the majorpart of uses decides to remain the minor characters

Like the donquichottesque close growthSequoias of bonzes, or the waitress with deeply

Glasses and a passion for failures,Because principal character, in the thrallOf a piece of ground relentless, cannot prevent

oneself from descending towardsThe edge of crumbling of cliff. And which needs

that?Some inherit genes of the generations

Minor players, some must learn how to keepThese Sunday shone upon with paper

Completely of the heroes in distant shooting. Andsome among usThe iwho' ve obtained sufficient during years turns

another page,Light the play of football, up to one day

Rings of bell. We close our books,Adjust our eyes, and the protagonist

Fields while requiring oneself in our livesWith its entourage of covetousness and language,

Pain, brilliance. Heroes, anti-heroes, it hardly proneWith the luminous lights this. Peaks of musicAnd it is time to speak.

Amphibian

My daughter wants to takeA oil-base paint framed at the school,A nudity with loose centres and a belly

Ripe like full moon. Why? SinceUs are student splashes, it says,

And it is a frog. I pile up my headTo consider the angle of the draped armBut cannot obtain after the female form.

My daughter, although, stroke


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In amphibians, bringing the houseScrabbleuse of the images of the germination of

tadornesWidened feet. The night, it sleeps

In the room to be slept I painted it pink,It racks furnished with the confectioneryTeapots and cups. Per day, she wantsTo be his/her brother when it grows.

Recently, it is morphe inOf creature of iwho' D a twisting rather freely

That are held. O, how we see what usPlease see. My daughter, looking at

A nudity, sees a frog to show N to say.

I look at it and see me.

3 (three)

The single guard of the flight holds me the firstrole, guard

Against my flickering of covetousness of impulse:teach me

To see them like sisters and girls. Support

My large efforts: husbandship and works.Give up me not when my wild hours come;Grant to me the sleep of night, grace softened my

dreams;Realize in me patience to the thing is made,A careful sight of my achievement comes.

From time to time make me the gift of the shoulder.When all the wounded nerves pleurnichent closed

far the whiskey.

Empty my heart towards Thee.Let survey to me without fear the common way ofdeath.

The cross am me sometimes with my smalldaughter:

Fill it of the eyes of tears. Forgive me, lord.Link my various heart,

The single guard of broad and simple holds the firstrole.


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ShameA girl who, in 1971, when I lived beside me,

painfully only, deprived, inserted,With ease mentioned with me in a conversation

with some friends with whom althoughInitially it had found meI cannot remember the limit, to mean to go back to

familiar expression odd, unacceptable,Outside of things

It had decided that I was after all all the goodstwelve years after it returns to me

Of null shareAnd I realize that it was not my sexual then

irrepressible, nonselective, ceaseless wantIt meant,What, when we had been introduced, I naturally

aimed and what itEasily guided,

But that which it had thought that I was really, inme, the manner I looked at and spoke and acted,What it was to say, crawling, strange, that which,

and I would be taken with terrible

Humiliation.How to be a poet

( To remember)Make a place to sit down.

You sit. Be quiet.You must depend at the time

Affection, reading, knowledge,

Competence more each oneThat to have you inspiration,Work, growing old, patience,

For patience joint timeWith eternity. All readers

Who like your work,Doubt their judgement.

Breathe with the breath without conditionsUnconditioned air.


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Avoid the electric wire.Communicate slowly. Of phase

A dimensioned life three;Stay far from the screens.

Stay far from anythingThat darkens the place which it is pot.It crowned no one there of the places;

There are only the crowned placesAnd profaned places.

Accept what comes from silence.Make the best than you can of him.

Small words which comeOut of silence, like prayers

Requested the again one with that which requests,Make a poetry which does not disturbThe silence from which it came.

After the roadI left my wife to the airport,

To fly outside to help our daughterWith which baby will not eat.

And I lead above to KentTo intend some poets to read this evening.

I cannot what make with meWhen it leaves me like this.An old friend decided withStop our friendship. Others

Break-in with far with its wife.I cannot what say

With which of the hard Lives.And I aloud say it to me,

The life is hard, and orders furtherIn the darkness, my headlights

Only going up to now.I feel my own tended breath, this fear

We call the effort, making him another thing,To hide all that is true.

As I slip after the twin lakes,The surface waters punts hold the first role below,

I hold the wheel gently, deceleration myThe body with the road, and still knows that


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It is life right, not a traumaNor died, but a prolonged painRecall of we who we are alive.The days I am not my father

I do not howl. I am not held insideProvisioning of the day of destructions.My open stay of hands all the day.

I do not awake not tired and endolori,Astounded the foolish one, panicking

Dreams. The days I am notMy father I hold my son

When it cries, let touch it my faceWithout moving back, you with him sleep

Until it falls deadened, realizeThat just because it has a pointed language,Just because it is sometimes average,

Just because it is smarter than meDo not mean that he will become my father.

The days I am not my fatherYou to hold is enough untilYou to hold is rather more

For one or the other of us. I listen well.

I let things disappear not finished,In an order I did not project.My mouth is slackened. My teethDo not wound. My stays of face

A healthy nuance of pink all the day.The days I am not my father

I filled not silence of my cleanLaughing irrational. I do not return

Voices of others. I do not make the recreationOf you to go the better feeling.

The days I am not my fatherI do not worry who gain

Where loses. The news cannot ruinMy day. I sprinkle factories.I make cook. I laugh myself.

I can imagine to live outwardsMy beard, with my haircut,

Without fear to look at


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Too much loves my father. DaysI am not my gambades of father I

And play, I do not compare myselfWith each one of other, the night

Is always rather long, I likeHow much I cost like my father.

Lucky

If you are lucky in this life,You will obtain to help your enemyManner that I obtained to help my mother

When it was weakened after the point of sayingnot.

In the large enamel bucketWith half full with water

What I had done on the right just,I lowered the childish skeleton

It had become.Its eyelids floated while I soaped and rinsedIts belly and its trunk,Sorry ruin of it sides

And the fringed gray cloudBetween its legs.

A few nights, resting by its bedBook open in my covering

Tandis which I listened to the airYou in and out of its dark lungs move abundantly,

My spirit filled of praiseAs abundant as the music,

Astounding with symmetry and the chanceThat would offer the chance to me to payMy heavy debt of punishment and love

With the love and the punishment.And once that I considered his drops wet

In the uncomfortable sky


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Between the wheel chair and the bucket,And it requested from me like a child

To stop,An act of cruelty that we both included/understood

Was to be delighted irresistible antiqueFinished weakness of power.If you are lucky in this life,

You will obtain to raise the spoonPrimitive and frosted dairy ice cream

With the mouth of confidence of creatureOf your old enemy

Because the tastebuds at least are not brokenParce that there is a bond between you

And the candy is soft in any language.Men between two ages, leaningFour movements

~They are inclined towards rakes.

It is late, it equalizesAlready at the interior of their houses.

The children went.Their wives are on the telephone

To speak gently with someone else.This freezing, this autumn earlyOn their spirits, small

Measure of patience and respectLike if the twilight world

In the pieces similar to luminous paperDecreased thus and thus.

~They lean on hoes

In spring green groundTurned once more under them

Their eyes completely of the flowersTheir hands completely too

Plantation always to be madeGrasses and waiting of dryness

Their full seed pocketThe water which they must carry.

~


27/84

In a darkness early of winter they leanOn shovels, a heart graying

The last bad dry and hard blow inside them,To look at upwards towards the sky

The yard, the alley, the carThe street, the worldOneself for all which they know

Buried by snow in fallEven while they haltent to breatheAnd Re-breathe the obvious breath,

Like a balloon of animated drawing of glareOf an old imperfect prayer.

~

In summer, after long mowing,They lean towards a growthSilence in grasses of cuddly toy

In sheets of much of greensIn the trees of their own colors

Where gracious and crowEach one in its own shade

In the extension sinks of the branches

Lessons

I learned

This continuous life,Or not.It of the days is measured outside

In tiny incrementsIn so much than woman in a kitchen

Measure spoons with coffeeCinnamon, vanilla,

Or half per sugar cupIn a basin.


28/84

I learnedThe this moments are as invaluable as the nutmeg,

And it occurred with meThis occupied interruptions

Be like the tiny mites of grain,Or mouse.They nibble, make wee, and exhaust,Or made their small towards and Web

Until you must throw outside the good stuffWith the bad one.

It took the two deathsAnd coming narrowly myself

For me to learn

It it does not have an infinite provisioning thereGood things in the office.Art to disappear

When do they say I do not know you?Known as not.

When they invite you to the partYou recall as which parts are

Before the answer.Somebody saying to you in a strong voice

They in the past wrote a poetry.Sausage lubricating balls of a plate with paper.Then answer.

If they say us should meetKnown as why?

It is not that you do not like them any more.You try to remember somethingToo much important to forget.

Trees. The bell of monastery in the twilight.Say to them that you have a new project.

It will never be finished.When somebody identifies you in a store of grocer

Briefly incline the head and become a cabbage.When somebody whom you have not seen for ten

yearsAppears with the door,

Do not start to sing all your new songs to him.You will never catch up with yourselves.


29/84

Go around feeling like a sheet.Will know that you could tumble down any second.

Decide what then to make with your time.Costal Faret

A man so much badly does not want anything likegooseberry farm. I want a farmlet costal.

I wish it much.I saw that it announced

In classified and me supposeThis coastal means our ground

Come well downwardsWith the sea with the whitecaps

Whipping romanticism, and farmletMeans which we can developKnotty trees on our headland

And leave the sheep wander. It is approximatelycheap

Enough for we if we borrow, requestsAnd fly, pawn some poetries, also write

A Romance harlequin or two, and is to himOnly 9000 miles of the place

We call the house. There is not muchOf a tear exclude immigrationLet us not remain in the country

To live in our farmlet. But always,I want it and thinks that us should go

Look at to it, in this moment, this moment,Tandis that the soft gooseberries of fort and prickly

rougeoient.Wire with seventeen

My son, an expert by over-exposure,Identify the song before I,

The best of the yearOn the subject in the way in which the sex is good

for everyone.This great man who was a boy one year ago

The cranks raise the radio to the carIs a capsule swells it lies of noise,

Heavy on the low one.


30/84

While it leads, it sings each strong word,With the cellular belief.

It will have it all, give it allIn its time, probably soon.

My heart starts to vibrate dangerouslyAt the low frequencies.This evening I feel enough old to be mother with a

man.I mime my fear with him,

My hand on my trunk, my eyes with far.I can feel it in my trunk, I shout.

It ceases singing long enough with the sign ofapproval,

Charmed that I noted.It is better, it howls.Words of wisdom

Natural foodAn apple per day

The doctor maintains left.The proverbial Council on maintaining healthy

Early with the bed and to rise early,Returns a man in good health, rich person and wise.

After the dinner rests one moment;After walk of dining by thousand.If you wish to live forever,

You must wash the milk of your liver.It for which would live yes

Must eat sage in May.Button with the chin

Until with the capacity being inside;Cast iron not a rag

Until with the capacity being outside.Our fathers, who were wise marvellous,

Be you washed the throats before they washed theeyes.

The head and the feet maintain hot;The rest will not take any evil

Employ the competence of three doctors: initially,peace of DR.,

Then Dr. Merrimack and Doctor Diest.


31/84

Without title

So black the snails cross your way,Black clouds much of hak of moisture.

Even red and gray of morning,Are one day the sure signs beautiful.

Red sky the morning,

The warning of the shepherd.Red sky the night,Pleasure of the shepherd.

Composed on the bridge of Westminster,The ground did not show anything more honestly:

Chechmate it would be heart which could pass nearA sight thus touching in its majesty:

It of dowry city now, like a clothing, useThe beauty of the morning; silencer, naked,

The boats, the turns, the domes, theatres, and thetemples areYou with the fields, and the sky open;

Very luminous and scintillating in the sky withoutsmoke.

Never more admirably exposed to the stiff sunIn its first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;

Neurol. I saw, never was so much deeply smelled,calms!

Glides of river to its own candy:Dear God ! The same houses seem deadened;And very that the powerful heart is always!

Good night


32/84

Youth

By all youth I sought youWithout knowknowing what I sought

Or what to call you that I think that I notWill even know that I seemed how IYou knew when I saw you as I did it

With many recoveries where you appeared with meAs you made naked offering itself

Entirely at these moments and leave youI breathe you contact that you taste yourselves

knowingNot more than me made and only when I

With started to think of losing you IBe identified when you were already

Outdistance part of memory of remaining part

Extract from the ways in which I learn how to annoyme of youThe EC what we cannot judge holds the first role

are done

Good night

Sleep gently my old loveMy beauty in the darkness

The night is a dream which we haveAs you know as you know

The night is a dream which you knowAn old love in the darkness


33/84

Around you as you goWithout end as you know

The night when you goSleep gently my old love

Without end in the darknessIn the love which you know

ConfederatedMy father was only two years old of 1915

When it sat down on the covering of Walter DantonAnd heard the old inside trailing manIts heavy chain of breath, each bond

Stammering in bottom of the back of its throat.Floyd, it whispered, statement the name of the

babyA question, resemble the yeti,

And it placed the hand of my fatherOn a scar the color of cumulate two employment,

A shrapnel rolls up boats of YankeeThis shelled pi. Nelson.

Then both started to cry,

There in the chair of ladderbackSomebody had trailed in the shade of elm,

Far from the suffocating house,Until a woman came to save them

Between them, leaving oneTo enter the past and to disappear,The other to follow by the future.

Smoke and ashesI pass each fall outside in wood, trees of

demolition, cutting their trunksAnd branches in blocks, duplicating and piling up

the blocks in ordered lines.I cover the wood of old roof out of metal and lets it

rest during one year or thus.Then again with wood with a tractor and a carriage.

Charge woodIn the carriage, again transport it to the woodshed,

throw it inside and still pile up it in the air.


34/84

All by the fall, the winter and spring I carry wood bythe armada

In the house, and still pile up it in the woodboxbeside large, old

Round furnace of oak. In him goes, fire after fire,day after day, month thenMonth. Any moment I shovel ashes in a galvanized

coal bucket,Transport them outside to the garden, and disperse

them above snow.

After all this work!

A bucket of ashAnd smokeGone

In the air.When I call

As I speak to him,I like to think of

Our copy of stitched bookOf Thomas more

Meeting of the UtopiaOn the table of telephone.Nobody reads the Utopia

Nobody foreverRead the UtopiaNobody foreverWith desired lira

Utopia, notEqual Thomas more.

The only actionIt will never seeIs when it abstractedlyReverse its pages whileIt speaks to me. When

I call, I like withThink of it doing that.


35/84

Windows stops

Windows stops, and grammar isOn their last leg. As are we to make?

A letter of complaint goes just up to now,While proving only in the stage be you.Better, perhaps, leave simply suits it.

A sentence must be the pretty bad one screwedBefore it obtains with where you not knowThe significance what it must mean had.

The meteor struck. Diffusion of extinction,

But the evolution does not stop for that.A rise in languages of mutant of deaths

And all they of the rules is suddenly old hat.Too much the bad one for us, us what had so much

a long timeThe best seat of the only play downtown.

But there it AM, and which can indicate its evil?Such are the cut. Windows stops.

Windows stops

Windows stops, and grammar isOn their last leg. As are we to make?

A letter of complaint goes just up to now,While proving only in the stage be you.Better, perhaps, leave simply suits it.

A sentence must be the pretty bad one screwedBefore they obtain with where you not know

The significance what it must mean had.

The meteor struck. Diffusion of extinction,But the evolution does not stop for that.A rise in languages of mutant of deaths

And all they of the rules is suddenly old hat.Too much the bad one for us, us what had so much

a long timeThe best seat of the only play downtown.

But there it AM, and which can indicate its evil?Such is the cut. Windows stops.


36/84

Recceuil de Pomes

MiseryDifficult to shout my pain, my hatred

Impossible to hide all my sorrowIn this dehumanized company

In which the material replaces affectivityUnhappy people are put of with dimensions

We do not have any more time of us to occupysome

Well often, we will run after the moneyThere does not remain any more time for the

feelingsIt is with sorrow if one still says oneself, hello!To live it is necessary to always fight still and

I dream of a better world without miseryBanished all these wars

The words, the speeches seem useless to meThe spirit of this world appears so futile to me

I continue to dream and write my states of heartVis-a-vis so much of misery, paper and the feather

remain my only weapons

The world cracks


37/84

I do not know any more what to say all the wordsare worn

But I do not want to flee I hate cowardiceTo what that will succeed? I cannot guess

What will be my future, the planet will crack.Everywhere misery cries it beseeches pityAll the human ones are afraid, by ransack

They create their own misfortune are entretuentwithout stumbling

It is only one question of hours, because the worldwill release.

The forests disappear just like the animalsAnd the diseases are born not saving our ego

How to commit suicide into two or three lessons?Humanity showed but in a terrible way.To what all that does lead glory and the money?If it should be said Amen, if it is necessary to be

contentWhen it is said to us that all goes well in Brave New

World,When one takes to us for insane or somebody of

immonde?

This world is quite futile, I can ensure it to youThere is no more tile with the roof of humanityThe man sowed the wind and collects the storm

To have ransacked planet too a long time.

Misery

I still hope for a world where joy and peaces will benormal.

Around me the storm thunders, but I keep themoral oneThe hope makes me hold, the hope keeps me in lifeAnd prevents me fleeing or from removing me the

life.I continue to beat me I do not lower the arms,

There is to fight so much and it tiredness is there,But well fortunately, my friends take care on me


38/84

Of a benevolent glance force and faith insufflateme.

And if I am here with them all I owe itThat I thank them! To have made so much for me

In this world where all burns, they all are there formeAnd if the fear drives back me, I know that they will

be there

Solidarity

Why aren't you satisfied with what you have?Ca seem so easy to you to say that the world is

ungrateful,Ca seem so easy to you to say that the life turns

you the back,Ca seems so easy to you to feel sorry for you

whereas elsewhere there is not enough water.But when reality faces you,

Very of a blow it is you who is of another race,You realize that you are loved,

Whereas Fatou cannot eat any more.You realize that you go to the school,

That you sleep with the heat in your bed,Whereas Salma sleep on the ground,

And that it will work all its life.But awake and helps all,

These people who do not deserve this life,Join them and with them pushes back,The barriers which block their desires.

If you look at them well,They smile,

Do not observe their way,Raise and acted.

Third World


39/84

In the Third World, in Africa or elsewhereMy eye crosses glances of misery and misfortune

My heart lacerates an incurable tearOf under development to a famine which lasts

Horrors are engraved there and of the images ofdespairWho never will not be erased leaving hearts in

wanderRampart with the lapse of memory, killed by the

indifferenceTiny room to the silence, skinned by intolerance

Ore of this new milleniumWhere one wastes money per billion

Here in Africa and there low in Asia from Aqabawith BariOne seeks without finding the water of these

always dried up wellsIn my dreams, I see these children with the eyes

hagardsThe inflated belly of famine, a suffering at the

bottom of the glanceFor them, I can nothing make, I tell them right

Good-byeAre the shame of a world worried by the conquestof the skies

Been unaware of of all, drowned in inanities andwars

My irritation of this distress which I would hardlyinclude/understand

Need is of a new world where the man is pitifulA world not Petri free from these incredible

madnessesI remain to sing these anguishes to burn the heart

Impotent to soften fears and to drive out fearsO rich countries, the culpability sounded with your

doorsIt is necessary to finish some and that famine and

inanities devil carry!


40/84

Poor fellows

Do not judge me. I had fun.Tomorrow I will be able to play another part

elsewhere.How many closings still on my road?

Poor world, full with contrasts and contrarietiesBut for me the life has the price of the sufferingThe night, all alone, I dream that I do all to burstMore employment but of large which grows rich

Our human values are impoverishedMy brothers die of hunger in the world;And there is always a war some share.

The ground leaves in dust, polluted,And the rich countries pretend to be unaware of it

I forgot that the sky was blueHere, stars are not seen

And there they have stars for only coat.The raptors wait to devour their entrails.

And with the place to be there, I am here and I limepits.

The interminable days come to conceal my hope.

I give without counting and am not satisfiedBecause those which I like still suffer.We will be in 2008

And we move back instead of advancingYou to be rich and you do not have anything

Poor world, the human poor

The life is a mythI live in this country

Where a beautiful life is carried outAnd where the richness is not always a myth

But me, it is in the street that I liveI begged bread and clothesOne answered me in heart

To go to earn my living


41/84

I went myself from there without rancourI was to seek asylum

In each small corner of the cityOne then threw me to the wolves

I thus slept in a holeI was sought friendsThey one says to me more one is the insane ones

more one laughsAnd when I fell asleep

One taken my bag and leftTo survive in this company

It was said to me that it is necessary to workThus an employment I sought

The door with the nose one closed meHold? It snows in this JanuaryWith my sad fate I had resigned myself

But in the morning I would be very recroquevillAnd the life Hlas will have already left me

Let us save the world

In infernal nothing of misery,Where people scrape the ground to be become

exhaustedHaving for simple comfort the softness of a light,

Who pains to ignite, for lack of dignity.There are African on their ground of desolation,

Children with the inflated bellies, fault of nothaving found

These some seeds for a mean consolation

History not to die under the eyes of their elder.There is these Asian constrained with forced work

Children who carry on their back triple of theirweight

Keep silent and undergoing the blows violent one offoues.

Easy labour, bearing on their face a sad distress.There are these Hispanic going in the desert

Naked children feet crams by an infernal sun,


42/84

vertuant itself to circumvent the groundmonticules

Made thirsty, destroyed vtus of rags salts.Wars, famines and diseases,

These people there always underwent all.They always lived the worst without never livingthe best,

Do you imagine in their place that you will feel hasshare of the fear?

Third World

Certain continents like Africa,

Are filled of a misery,Far from being transitory,However so splendid Grounds.Made poor by these politicians,

While profiting,Of these populations,

Dedicated to the exploitation.They think only of their interests,And for reason, use the market;

We live in a corrupted company,Where poverty is not fought.On these continents of the Third World,

That misery and the famine flood,People are cordial there,

Never dissatisfied and so marvellous.Some is your color of skin,

Never the back will be turned,And even when you sigh,

They are to make you smile.Despite everything its, poverty reigns;And never will not leave ourselves there unscathed,

Because human nature,Made devastations and that their bodies bleed.

There is indeed a material misery,But not cultural,

People are fabulous there,Then why such an amount of hatred against them.


43/84

Country D `the East

Country D `the East exalte of light,

These men T `have flees carrying their prayers.Growths by the winds of anger,

They left, by leaving you behindCountry D `love throws in misery,Look with far these solitary hearts

Scattered like grains of dustOn the tortuous ways D òther grounds!

They built D ùniverse so muchGive up like vulgar objects;

They need to change D àtmosphere,For them C ìs so easy all to remake!See, they are of all cruisings!

They even knew to tame the seas,These eternal nomads of the hemispheres,

They are nothing any more but merchants whowander!

Country rebels with the stone kingdoms,But you reappear of the doors of L `hell!

By miracle, your jewels N `did not suffer,Suffered from the tragic pangs of the war.Country D Òrient bathes by the light,

Watch for these men who return D `yesterday!They approach your austere landscapeWith in the heart a back bitter taste.

Ground of Phoenix qu `they rediscovered,Prevent D `to establish their perverse play!They have already burns so many galres

Now they return, remains foreign!

Africa

Africa awaits its rainIt scans the sky morning and evening

Hope that the fields take life. Them only the hope was given.

They will divide the millet,


44/84

The wafer and the yam fried.On their head, will sell at small prices

Thin harvest for their survival.Naked feet, the children have fun

Vtus of loincloth or kurtaThey smile under the sun which usesThey smoke cigarettes, eat the coke.

One puts in their young handsWeapons of war, not of the flowersUniforms on their bodies of childAnd they are not even afraid.

One charges them in trucksThey go, they do not know where

Them ammunition are givenThey draw on all that moves.They had Cholera, famine and malaria

Today they will have AIDS and rifleThey feel truths small soldiers!

They fear neither to kill, nor to die.The world around them is card-indexed some.

Such an amount of than one does not touch withthe resources

Mines soliflores and oilThe world of fout, without manner.The white have the rain,

The smile and drugsCapacity of the moneyCapacity of survival.

The blacks have their hope,Sun and not of water,

Their children enrls in bush against their likingOne could have given them a square of lawn

In the place of a cone filled with grass.Water, fishing nets

In the place of weapons of war.They will dig their own hole

Will violate then will kill sisters and mothers,Will declare themselves in war, will become insane,

Military march and proud glance.Then the blue helmets will be sent,


45/84

Lgionaries and soldiers,Who will hold up their own banner

At the advanced post offices, they will open fire.Then the children soldiers will fall

The hand on their rifle, without fear,An open hole in the place of the heart,The glance fixe.les children will die. Evils of the

heartIt is only heart to be written to have the broken

heart.It makes known the worst by words and thoughtsWho animate tears the L In the black and the fear

of losing a loved being.

Quiet environment where one remembersOf its doucereuses lips which from now on do notoffer anything any more

That painful words claquant a such whipAnd making too unhappy the ensanglant heart

This heart is enclosed in hard barbed wiresWho hang it and wound it, and even tear it.

It does nothing but bleed, and tries to forgetThe pain which attacks it words that one cannot

readIs this there the exit of the so dark tunnel?Is this only one respite of light for replonger in the

shade?Would this be only one match which will die out

cold?ongues last nights

Terror privatoireIt says in vain to me that it likes me and that it is

due to me,And it can even put my heart in agitationBy its soft words and words of its heart;But I do not manage to forget the horror.

Since a man one day misused me,


46/84

I am this afraid with the belly without knowing why.My heart is quite alive, and he likes with excessBut my body does not follow any more: it is in

decline.

It is like a parasite hidden in my fleshWho digs and who corrodes me while wanting tomake me conceal.

I never entrusted my secrecy to anybody,And yet it is there; in my head it resounds.

I want to be some to deprive my man of pleasure,But I do not feel any more for that of desire

And it will probably never include/understandWhy I do not cease pushing back it.

It is as is my life: deprived of this happinessThat I cannot live, clotre in my fear.My days and my punctuated nights of terrorAre haunted by my memory and my pain.

To imagine a voyageI imagine a voyage towards the unknown factor

A world of freedom and peace

Where one can like without being criticizedWithout seeming to be to judge

There, or one can bathed in the glance of peopleThere, or one can smile to people

There, or the world likesIs not it or the world makes the war

I would like to leave on a journey, far from hereFar from this life, never to return from there

Never not to suffer

An interdependent world or all the world is helpedA world is helped without making the war

Make love not the warA box of hood be worth less expensive

That a nuclear bomb.

Travel


47/84

I dream of this voyage for a long time.

Not both for the landscapes the moment.In my country, one is not adult by the age,One becomes it by achieving this voyage.

I was born in Alore, I am called Esm.I am a White Elf, of the clan of the leaders.It is all the more important, for the royaltyHow my initiatory voyage is triumphing!

They is thus full with enthusiasm, impatient andhappy

That I get under way in this merry morning.I leave without regrets the beautiful Africa country,

For the Enchanted Hills, mystical region.It takes four weeks of tireless walkThrough almost insuperable forests

To arrive finally to this magic countryWhere I will discover splendid beings.

There low, the grass is blue and soft like silk,The multicoloured flowers make music,

One enivre of the water of the brooks which onedrinks,

One derives, one drowns, this world is fantastic!But my intention is not to let me gray

Because to be an adult I must bring backHairs of an unicorn to the silver plated reflections

And plucks it blued of large winged PEGASE.It will be necessary for me for that to become their

friendAnd nothing is riskier than to frighten them

Because those which frighten them find roastsBy the dragons in load to protect them.


48/84

TravelUnder the paddle blue harms the fresh scents,

Embraced fog and the too drunk heart,I would go with my soft poetry and my book,

Towards the virgin oceans enchanters.The horizon will be our single headlight,Rowing and slipping on floods dreamers,

We will have the skies, all their enthusiasms,Who will carry us in soft brass band.We will merge with the brilliant seas,The infinite one will be our sanctuary,The scum of water ink to the actuary,

Engraving our Eden far from the bitter hearts.And we will know all the gold of the shores,

The naked one silver plated and the vermilion day,The sail nourished with the divine sun,Always we will go towards wild places

Will whirl in the air of the scents of the East,Of snow and incense, of sand and beer,Who on us will come to close the eyelid;

On the steps of Ulysses to the brilliant tale.

Sailing through vague well calmTheir reflections of the evening like torches,With the sky of the Atlas far from the blacks

corbels,Our drowned hearts it will be born from the palms.

The bird of the hope

Of my opaque window in my hostile cityI can only observe one faded sky.Clouds in plates which cover the cityHid and wasted this shaken azure.

It is with loss of sight that this vast horizonGrisonnant of sadness and private of beauty

Show its lost heart and this dark of leadCrushing the tenderness of a beautiful sun of

summer.


49/84

But if I became this beautiful doveThat I saw transpiercing this so thick veil,

And if I flew away much higher than my tomb,If one day I could finally exceed it

My tomb, my city, the cradle of my death,It is well the depression, you would have guessedit.

But this bird flew and went up without effortWith beyond pressures of my tormented heart.

My hope came to the sight of peaceTransported by this being with the pace angelica.

It bored this moult which formerly held me:I saw myself reappearing with the tropical sun an

Angel Which DancesI sought the inspiration and suddenly here is thestorm

Preceded by its flashes, the thunder gives me therage

Here a long time that nothing goes and yet I turnedthe page

Only, there remains still this hatred which gives medesire for touching the clouds

An irresistible desire D for advancing, quickly, well,until this famous skidAccident, murder, not, not have this point I hold has

to remain among the angelsErrors I made some, ok, now I assume them

If not how to live, not to acknowledge them tofinish that consumes us

In once or to small fire, already come to chooseyour costume

After one will see whether your maque step of tunecarries-afric

According to how, one will finish you and memaking fortune

With the risk to displease with the others becausethe fact that one can make a success of their

breakage the ballsEarly or late one will arrive bored in this medium

and one will pass very close to the moon


50/84

Manu, Da Nick, Yoann, I make a point of dedicatingthis piece to you

Because the life is too unjust, death found you tooearly

Here low nothing is any more similar since you leftsummersDay after day the fear us invaded, one wonders or

goes the lifeNo matter what it is, where that it goes, without

you each hard blow is a battleSome is so painful, for me it is like reviving your

funeralBut good, is necessary to continue has to live

because one day our meeting again will becelebratedWait, I have a problem, the storm breaks

Still some flashes but can with can the things arepacked

The sun makes its appearance, my hatred fromgoes away, but say me what occurs

It is good, I calmed myself and as by chance myinspiration releases me

J me endore, I am tired, my eyes close myselfplugged by flashesCa is there, here is finally a light, dazzling,

incandescentTo finish I pete a lead, I awake and see an angel

.......... who dances.

Music in all kindTo rise late


51/84

I was too ftard to drink a black coffee to play ofthe guitar

Aujourdui it makes beautiful it makes hot I am toraise early to benefit from my piano

I touched the dissolve year it is too long I will putmyself at the violin to forget that I was too idiotI am tired of rod to put to me at low or with the

double bass it is a question of place!Can be are the battery which will take me along tothe paradise which will enchant my life would make

me dreamed in my bedOr it east can be my voice would make ego

somebody respect somebody to admire

This choice I already did it I am proud of me of allthese benefitsMy piano it is my sun my wonder it is most

beautiful

Just a poem

The poet does not see like meIt is astonished by what it sees

It the made-to-order while playing with its wordsAll the world can admire

The poet contemplates to him seizes the beautyWhile speaking about its dreams

It its to give birth to mineAs a magician it m offers his poetry

For m to accompany in its worms and enchant myheartPoet me I am not my A his eyes I am it

Expression


52/84

In each poem which I composeHatched a expensive topic in my heart

The words captivate me and are essentialSalutary with certain pains

I question myself, I deliver myselfI release myself from these chainsSometimes difficult to live

The writing relieves my sorrow.

The Suicide of the Birds!The Suicide of the Birds!

All those which prefer being free with the detrimentof the freedom of the Others

Eastern and Western, we make all of the errors.God and his Prophets do not have nothing to do

there. The bird is symbol of freedom; but freedom

has certainly borders which it should not exceed. Ifnot, it would become sick, and would have as a

remedy only the suicide.Before imagining the world without freedom,

imagine the world without birds!We live in one era

Where the honor is less expensive;Where hatred ransacks us

And throws us in his cage!

Where the wars yield to the warsMore atrocious than deathWho cuts down strongest,And seizes the ground!

We all are prisoners,First with the last,In a false freedom

Who does not have any more clearness!Our Peace which planed


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All around the years,Us all the hope pays

In a nozzle of black bird!Freedom and kindness,

And goodwill,All the three are disappointedBy these men who kill them!

The birds are in strike.They have enough of our dreams.

They drank acid;They choose the suicide!Their clouds in the sky

Wasted all honey,

To deprive the human onesHappiness of tomorrow!But the war continues,

Without stop, slackening;And Satan held

In its hand its riding crop.It drives out us its places,

To save all the gods,To maintain its secrecy

Hidden well in truth!Contradiction, is delirious,Dreadful hypocrisy,

All these gas insults,Left nothing say!

The purpose of all the world isTo play of the flute,

Like an old charlatanWho adores the snakes,

And keeps them in a caseUntil the day of the mass,

To make an oath of itHow its role is charming!

Life of human


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The love and the friendship do not have a priceThe clins and the nozzles, gives some to you in isYour life consists of your family and especially of

your friendsAll the love necessary, you will have some with theinfinite one

A human being does not have a priceBut in a direction, the human ones is worth a

certain priceParce which it is necessary that you would be well

nourishedThen you should be found beautiful clothes

For among among us, the made money started fromour lives

Letter with humanityLetter with humanity

With you human brothers, I send this message toyou

A bottle thrown to the sea right before theshipwreck

Some throbbing scattered words which resoundIn a murmur which flies away with the wind of theautumn.

That those which will die tomorrow or soonEssuient their tears and explain to the children

Why our so rich ground becomes a cemeteryIn spite of the songs of love and the prayers.With you human brothers, to perpetuate this

message

Beyond the ocean, through the cloudsSo that a rain of thoughts of love and fraternityFall down on the regions, same most moved back.That those which will give the life, tomorrow or

soonPull up their socks to give to their child

A world of flowered gardens, meadows, sun in thehearts


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The materialism and selfishness never broughthappiness.

With you human brothers to accompany me todistribute this message

In all the cities, villages, and to leave in our wakeA perfume of hope, benevolence, and deliveryFor our so beautiful ground which is asphyxiated in

the suffering.That those which will be born tomorrow or soonDo not listen not all the stupidities of would be

saying largeThat the innocence of the childhood which, alas

little by little is dried up

Remain the cradle of the wisdom which willilluminate their lifeWith you human brothers, I write this message to

youA postcard griffonne with haste, at the time of a

voyageDuring a stopover in the storm and the pain

In front of the misery which gangrene the peoplewhich are afraid.

That those which will die tomorrow or soonThat those which will give the life reflect seriouslySo that all those which will be born can be

accomodatedBy a smile which breathes all the vastness of the

beauty of the life.With you human brothers, to continue with me, this

messageThrough the universe, the infinite one, through the

ages.So that the gift which our creator with kindness

made usCan turn around the sun in peace a whole eternity.October twenty-nine two thousand eights, place

groundTiny planet lost in the universe

A message of land with its similar human


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So that the sun still rises over happy following days...........

.

HumanityBy this letter, and following our long talks

I bring finally the fruit to you of my reflexions.It was difficult but I had your support

This is why I answer without a hesitation.I observed a long time the people, the nations,

I listened to the songs, the cries, and the speechesI saw sowing hatred, I saw sowing the love,

Heard laments and declarations.I felt heat in the heart of a mother

And cold petrified in that of a banker

However, this banker there left miseryThis mother there, who flew of the cheque books.

All is not black or white, all is so complicated.There is necessary to remain child to be able to

explainMoving meanders and complexity

Road leading to maturity.It is perhaps that reality is dreamed.

One needs a heart of child and a heart of fairy

To accept the strange one and theincomprehensible one,And to think that to the bottom, if all is not credible

I was magic, my dear Humanit,To have been able to contemplate, in its infinity

Forces and weaknesses of your truth,I found wisdom in your company.There is no good if it is no evil,

All is balance in, what could be more normal?


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Wants to approve, my expensive, my greetings,And transmits my regards to your population.

Ink can make us weigh the anchorI address to you all, you, the large ones of this

worldBecause anger pushes me to break your roundtables.

You are spokesman with the populationBut play with them as with pawns.

The ink of your feathers mackles the treatiesBut condemn so many right to perish for peace

That I must myself of speaking for all these peoplewho died

While trying to repair your infamies and yourwrongs.You, guides, Masters and charlatans of the nationsWho do not respect of anything the beauty creation

And which prefers to make run liters of bloodRather than to abdicate with the rights of the alive

ones.Why a so unjust division of all the food productsWhereas it would be so simple to divide them?

Why such an amount of racism for a colorWhereas at the bottom of each one the same heartbeats?

Why force the autochtones to civilize itselfWhereas they succeeded better than us all to

preserve?Why send entretuer thousands of innocent

Whereas the culprits look them while smiling?Why you cause all these horrors

Who conceal the hopes and obscure the gleams?The world it is thus made the insane ones which

directs a shipAnd run it at the same time without suspecting that

it capsizes?Will know, members of the rabble as you these

large defineThat they never intended to help you to live!


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They opposite reassure you for better attackingyour sides

And as a death-blow, they will burn one day ourbooks

The Man could have lived a quite differentexistenceMuch further from all this burning hatred,

But it preferred to make the cannon fodder drunkTo send it to die under the drums and coppers!

Here is supreme honor of all this madness:Alcohol and the murder for the medal of the

country!It is beautiful the courage of our lost heroes

Who after carnage were made draw up a statueIn order to all honour them to have died during thewar

And to try in vain to comfort their wives and theirmothers

It is necessary from now on that theseabominations cease

Because we will finish by all remaining there.They are always the same ones which boxes

But it is up to each one all to reverse.

Another letter with humanityLetter with humanity

Hello Sirs! Hello Ladies!Be concerned of these words that I clamp

And which claquent in these juxtaposed sentencesWhen I empty my bag and puts to me to shout!

There I make you the account of a poor world,Defying visual inertia that I probe you!

This vision of a beautiful and fertile planetIs an old myth; mine is immonde!

Spaces are conquered and nature dies out,The bitumen emerges spread out by hideous

machines!The slopes are levelled but not our spirits

Tormented by the life of our paradoxical concern!


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The people spread themselves and the motionlessrichness

Be unaware of that stress the sadness of puerilepeople!

Their youths spirits did not include/understandThat of the two twins, it must of have subjectedone!

The birth is a suffering which makes cryHow if the heart in its first fright, knew!

Death is the delivery of those which criedWhen soft coloured fragrances died out!

It is due only to us to make laugh our babiesBy cleansing the air which they will be seen

breathing!It is due only to us to die in peace.Want accept my greetings neurotics!

Hope of life

The good and the evil fight in duelA banal history in this cruel world.

The love became worst treasons

Hatred emerged to the recess of passions.It is the history of a child who criesIn the middle of an old garden in flowersIn the night it runs and seeks a shelter

For its small body which one has ravaged.It opens the eyes on the dark light

Of an empty village, where fly of the shadesIt only goes among the remains,

Return to him its life, one very took to him.

To far, in the sky a heart is assembledIt in vain tries to catch up with itThis faith which so much often saved

This freedom which she would like to find.It is the history of a banished child

Who has the hope to live another lifeIn spite of the pain, the distress

The frankness of its face oppresses us.Offer to him dreams for a little happiness,


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Give him bread so that cease these tearsReturn him to it flame which brightened its heart

Leave it misery, it is my small sister.

The hidden face

A thousand-year-old blade posed on the road of thelife

Cut its smoothness the wire of the infinite one.The pink of the hope fan in front of misery,

Its petals fly away and drown in the waves of thesea.

A dark sky falls down of a flood of tears on thegroundDepositing on humanity a shroud of anger.

A humane disordered state tears off the sufferingWith the died hearts, whose love is their deficiency.

The pit of the rage penetrates in their stomach,Digging a little more, each day, their demises.

The air Leger replaces the force of their bodies,Like helium balloons, they will fly away towards

death.

Peeping Toms behind our opaque binoculars,Driving out these images of misfortunes in bulk,

We carry on our morbid and buckled road,Thinking of being able, with us only, to help them.

It is better of thus living like deaths alive,Our existences, work, the house and some times a

restaurant.Our thoughts distant from these poor children,Dying of hunger, in the sand dunes, wandering.

Thank you good conscience to help us to survive,Sometimes, to relieve us, we send food.

Let us let to the race humanity make it its infamous


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work,In any event for what is that used to pour some

tears?

And me, behind my poem, I am ridiculous.These words, vis-a-vis misery, are quite credulous.What is necessary to make moreover to help these

people?To request, ask of the assistance the four winds?

All these misfortunesAll these misfortunesIn the life, I had the chance

to have grown with my parentsnot to have to lunch of the rancid bread

where still to work hard in the fields.In Africa, there are these children whose belly

inflatesIn other countries during all this time, some whirr

In Ethiopia of new-born dieWhereas another share of the men complain about

happiness.Poorest in all that,

It is that certain words write on these mediaThey use rhymes, make subparagraphs

Not to stop all this drama but to see what that will beworth!

Me if I express myself on this subjectIt is so that my prayers are heard

And especially exaucesBut good, I know that that will not be more!

It is sad of speaking about these misfortunes

Whereas one cannot cease their tearsThese unhappy poor live without drinking water

They did not even eat what on their tables.Thus every evening I fall asleep

And I imagine that by awaking meAll these poor beings are covered with gold

But that has not changed anything then my hopeslast for 19 years


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TO OP EN TH E EYES

The day rises, the sun brings a heat on the body ofthe ground

I neither the song of the birds nor the joy hearshuman beingA noble body misses with the call, that of the heart

that many men and women lost on their waysOne sighs that of a child rocked by the African voice

a nation people lost at the time of a warThe heart travels, escapes from the avid body,

blown by the impotence To beI breathe the history of the women who carried out

the combat so that the future generations have theright as a woman To beI listen to the history of the men who fight and die

each days for the respect of their valuesOne gave human being the means of informing

themselves and yet misery of the continuous worldof existing by fear

Pushed by the wind, I half-open the door of acountry or silence reigns by the impotence of the

wordsFreedom of expression, you undeceive much peopledo not have there the right, far too many fine

wordss

To still today learn how to read and write decidesbetween whole people or the difference of the

sexes poses its evilsStill today of the small girls would have reverses to

be a little boy to sit down on the benches of theschool

The difference continues to strike, it returns to thehuman being its animal instinct which pushes it to

believe that it is very powerfulThe regret is posed when the difference helps the

indifferent one unconsciouslyThe reason pushes to be it to think that he says

true


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Only that which has faith, believes in the hope of aworld in peace

My combatAn unexpected meeting

A love, the desire for building a family,Given again taste with the love with a fallen man

too oftenHoping to be able to make him give up its practice

Who destroyed it with small fireA few years afterwards, few things changed

If very important, a CHILDOur son was born from a love

Who today is not also any more intense,I do not want any more to beat me against my

worst enemyWho destroys it,

Will it return it counts one day of the evil that thisone made with our family?

This l day that will be can be too late.

With the wire of the generations

We were not born in a cityAlthough resulting from a working medium

Of a former generation where problemsWere, unfortunately, already, the same ones.It was not a reason for all for breaking

Around us, in the name of the equalityIt was not a reason to insult

The company against which we were also, revolted.We do not live in a underprivileged medium

But against the accidents of the life, we foughtThe RMI, the CMU, alas, we tasted there


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But it was necessary well, one day, knowledge to beraised.

It was not a reason for all for breakingAround us, in the name of freedom

It was not a reason to use of vandalismTo spit on our own justice.We were not born in a crested world

With all the luxury, pleasure with our feetTo have been born in an opposite social classDo not excuse a disproportionate intolerance.

It is not a reason for all for breakingPseudo revenge counters the easy people

Nothing changed nor relieved forever

The sorrow and the misery which prevails at side.We were not born in a cityAnd even if poverty intertwined us

Armed with courage, patience and intelligenceOne obtains one day, more than with violence.

The attraction of the profit, the desire, jealousyAre not a sign of quality of life

Whereas love and richnesses of the heartAre amply enough to find happiness.

Why still so much of discriminations???Not later that yesterday, a friend with me wasvictim of a racist insult,

But why, to bait itself after these people,Because of their religion???

I find this gesture moved especially at our time,And even more because they is racist remarks.

An insult such as it has it undergoes is punishablenowadays,

And much however seem to forget it.I would never include/understand how these people

Dare to look itself in a mirror the morning,After the evil which they make around them!!

Not but it is unimaginable, to treat peopleSuch kinds, all that because it is different.

That the person is different from us,By its physique, its religion, its way of thinking,

That it is a problem mental or different,


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I find that not human to make fun, to insultAll that because this person is different.

But it seems to to me that much,Forgot that on this ground,

Each one in its place and that each one with rightto the RESPECT.I have only one question, with you pose:

You would like that one treats you in mannerimmonde

Because of your difference?????I suppose that not, then why,Does many react still thus???

Life of human

The love and the friendship do not have a priceThe clins and the nozzles, gives some to you in isYour life consists of your family and especially of

your friendsAll the love necessary, you will have some with the

infinite one

A human being does not have a priceBut in a dire

World & Roads

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Transcript of World & Roads