She accepted
the crayon
and drew
a transparency
to step across
the mirror.

Living on
horizons
long forgotten,
she sprang from fire,
her love affair,
a tale of fairy.

The baobabs grew,
feeding on her,
shredded the glass.
A darker night
devoured the moon,
diluted her crayon.

Then came the day after.
She rose
and drew a crayon.
She accepted lucidity
feeding on transparency.
She took a step.

I wonder... Have you
aged enough, upon grief,
came to love this matching heart?

Vacant.
An empty house.
Seldom glimpsed.
Unsuitable.
Ineligible for love.

Tonight,
my sweet boy
left.

My baby boy.

Helped his birth.
Kissed every inch
of his growth.
Teached him
every taste and texture and smell.
His hand in my throat
to articulate every sound.
Made him giggle
the very first time.

My baby boy.

All the stories,
all the words.
'You are my intelligence',
he wrote once,
age five.

My sweet boy.

He left.
As he should,
to live with his mother.

I have stayed for him.

Now,
for whom
would I stay?

There is nothing
left for me
to wish for.

Maybe
he will think of me
and smile.

[14/07/14]

[Dedicated to our fellowpoet, The DedPoet]

Horror.
Evilness.

We throw up,
our heart
we hang in a rope of tears.

All the gods
are silent.

And blind.

We watch
ourselves,
torned,
a full pain
turning us
into
a punishing fury,
apocalyptical riders.

And then
we see them,
the children.
So restless,
fearfull,
sorrowed...

But they fell asleep.

We watch over them.

And love,
unconditional love,
a forever love kind,
overwhelming love,
makes us understand
we are needed
and we must stay
and we must be able
to learn them,
our children, our own blood,
to trust again.

And we cry
and our tears
are their protection.

And they awaken,
stirred, first,
but we hug them,
the two at a time.
No words are needed.
Just love.
They will know
it is the real thing.

Wanderer,
on howling hope
love charms are weaved.

Stay for a while
in my porch,
hum a melody
and dance with me.

The night will linger,
all words hollowed,
all roads erased.

Yet, wanderer,
for just a while,
if you will,
enchant hope,
unchain this burst.

Petit à petit,
je rentre
dans mon cercueil en fer.

Essoufflée,
à bout de larmes,
épuisée par l'attente,
ce souhait impossible
de le voir
en courant
pour me retrouver,
je chavire
en rêvant
de son sourire.

A bout de larmes,
étourdie
par cette peine aiguillée,
je bégaie,
sûre que mes mots
ne servent plus à rien.
Je rentre dans mon cercueil,
tout en disposant du barbelé
autour.

Et je ne regrette que
cette brillance
dans mon coeur,
son sourire,
qui est venu
sans que je ne l'attende
me rendre amoureuse
à jamais.

~~~~~~~

ON THE EDGE OF TEARS

Little by little,
I go back
into my iron box.

Breathless,
on the edge of tears,
torned by the waiting,
this impossible wish
to see him
running
to meet me,
I sink
dreaming
of his smile.

On the edge of tears,
dizzy
by this stinging pain,
I stutter,
certain that my words
are no longer meaningful.
I go back
into my iron box,
barbwiring
all around.

And all I will miss
is that glow
in my heart,
his smile,
that came unexpectedly
making me fall
forever in love.