si les dunes bougent comme des oiseaux blessés
l’écho fleurira la tendresse des bois en hiver
en plein cœur du désert le sphinx pleure sans voix
ses âmes perdues à travers le temps
me retrouvai-je un jour quelque part
où les vivants ne pardonnent pas
les eaux profondes restent muettes de solitude
Parlant, écrivant, oubliant - la chute des verbes
qui s'amassent
pour devenir des tas de noms: le parlant,
l'oubliant, l'écrivant
Dans la foule des paroles
je ne le vois pas:
Il a cessé de parler.
Ralenti du silence, perceptible: la ligne blanche
dont l'arc se tend.
La nuit avance.
The thoughts, indefatigable travellers of life,
gliding on the eternal waters of time,
connect people with people, people and things.
Listen attentively and you will hear
their gentle swish as of an angel
soaring lightly
in the night.
The soul is a clepsydra
through which
thoughts and memories
are flowing ceaselessly
in the abysm of silence.
I do not have more than I've wrote in me
With purple ink and from my soul a gift
Of golden words and gentle deeds will be
Enough today for losses that you grieved.
Don't beg for more, 'cause I'm renouncing all
And I am asking nothing in return;
All mighty pride and glory like a thrall
And all the comfort and the wit I've earn.
But in the end, if love will flourish white
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