Though another day passes,
once having arrived,
cinnamon sunny
with a misguided preaching
from a catholic church,

I recall our gorgeous
misty evening
right by the waves
from yesterday
and its one peculiar
moment:
my dad pointed to
a far away regatta
sailing in
a distance
whilst standing to my
right and asked
me not quoting

“Do you know why
I wanted to go
to the sea?
The vastness of that body,
no endings in infinity,
no one to tell me
what to do,
and once you sailed away
from the harbour
it was just
it
living.

Whilst I was on my night shift
at the very front
of the ship
on my ever first voyage
by sea,
heading to
England from Gdynia,
I felt as if I
was the very first
man to discover the oncoming
land,
like Cristopher Columbus
with his dear Santa María
breaking the waves”.

Yes, Dad.
I would add,
settled in my question

“Why do I long somehow
in smaller
or bigger
ways too at
times for that
aforementioned harbour
and otherness with so many
sounds, details,
lights and
dancing dangerous like
knives in a tavern
thrown?
For so similar
yet
so privately schemed
departures I paint?”,

I would answer
without Brain,
even if it would be solely
in perfect, dreamy way
sketched:

“Because there is
some greater and
truer breath
of mine held out
by a foreign hand
or by standing lonely
from the other mirror’s side
in front of some tremendous
waves of Kanagawa,
hugging itself small
yet with fearless Child’s
patience, like
the Young Verter
on his painting.
Some more abstract
and
breathtaking
with charisma image
of me there
stands, flowing
instead of walking,
through called aisles.
Beige coat into the
blue falling.

The No Man’s Skies
and Lands
(or yet
Of Some Men)
to be felt with all
the body and
upraising in all hues
and minute sacrifices
in speechless
wonders,
like lagoon’s turquoise
water that would shine
in a cave’s dark
with krill dancing.”

Some upholdings,
some blind images
and all rest
fresh,
windy,
dark
and light with grey
whose voicing
I cannot make,
not just to keep
it in immaculation
to stay non-maimed.

Tss
Ouch.
The Missing.

El,
ese,
acantilado.

I am on my own
a Lighthouse Keeper
amidst the Night,
each fly,
in some presence:
coalition of a duty protruding
by thoughts,
delusions,
stories and
what’s exquisite
in sensations that
need guarding,
and then enjoined
with that never ending standing,
watching,
time lapping,
and all that taking place
in the ink hues with
scarlet pulsing as if hurt,
in baby blue
and lilac
by a sacrality
to me solely
constantly
held out
on
a string
to never let go
of
to
another.

maybe you were in love with those conversation we shared by the balcony while staring at the sky

or maybe you were in love with those sweet messages i sent you as soon as i wake up

or maybe you were in love with those poems i wrote for you specially when you are feeling blue

maybe you were in love of the idea of me being there

maybe you were in love with those,

but never with me.

Just enough
the end is close
No tears dropped
Forgiveness for some
Other forgot us
We’re not with you
We’re leaving cerebellum
I am not alone
Too late for thinking
Just free me now
Or I will jump
Don’t push me yet
It’s not your turn
I am leaving first
Don’t catch me, stop
Thank you a lot
For helping me, stop
Get out of my thoughts
Enough

what would force a wise septuagenarian to imagine himself
President of the USA?

Could it be
A ghost of war's glory days in the
grand old industrious gay nineties
days of smokestack landmarks of civic pride,
as seen by stevedores loading dry buffalo hides,... nay,

I trow not... war as imagined in a wise septuagenarian,
has no glory, but value, in depleting the other
side, and

rubbing away the bank on that distant shore, make it

seem so much further away...

what would force a wise septuagenarian to imagine himself
herself President of the USA?
see who salutes, nobody salutes
but military minds, tie-wearers.

nope, nothing comes to mind as reasonable,
save
pride

a broken-spirited, old-mind-bound hero-sell-out,
in my opinion,

with a plan to scuttle spaceship earth.

Okeh. We stop that. What next? It gets better.

I don’t believe in color and in the fact that the color of one’s skin defines their identity.
I believe in upbringing and education.
I believe in the fact that people are affected by where they grow up and their family.
Being black doesn’t make me behave in a certain way.
Being black just protects my skin and cells a bit better from UV light.
I never noticed anybody becoming someone else because they became tan.
People wouldn’t assume that somebody with brown eyes would act or think differently solely based on that fact.
What I mean is that people should never stop at the color of one’s skin but rather try to dig a bit more and understand the person,
How they think, what they’re made of.
Some people say that being color blind is not enough, that we need to see color in order to make things right.
I don’t believe so and I can explain.
Not seeing color doesn’t mean being oblivious to people’s problems,
Not seeing color means that the color of one person doesn’t matter,
That it’s not what gives them or cost them value,
That their problems should be tackled with the same strength and endurance, regardless of what they look like,
That the only thing that should matter is the situation that person is in.
Correlations can be found between a lot of different parameters.
Showing a correlation is different from showing a cause-effect link.
We should always try to understand the root of a problem
In order to treat the cause of a disease rather than only the symptoms,
Because treating symptoms will never help us get rid of the illness,
Only make it less painful to live with.
I can be black and like hip hop because I like the rhythm.
I can be black and like hip hop because some lyrics resonate with my experience.
I can be black and like hip hop because I like looking at the girls in the video clips.
In which sentence could I have not substituted black by white, brown, or Asian?
Money can have color but poverty doesn’t.
Countries have colors but values don’t.
People have colors but their identity doesn’t.
I am black, a scientist, curious about the world.
I was born in France, but my parents come from Haiti.
I speak French and English but can only understand creole.
I love Haitian dishes but everything else is far from being dull.
I live in a strange country with a society structure that I like.
There’s no big motto like Freedom, equality and fraternity
But there is “jantelagen”.
I am no better than anyone else.    
There is no reason why my voice should be listened to over another.
I am just sharing my opinion on a matter
That is crucial and that I have thought of.
If you want to know me, don’t just look at me, and think you have it all figured out,
Let’s just have a drink, let’s go out!

once you told me
i get in the way of your happiness

now, wherever my tired legs carry me
your fading shadow follows

my surroundings, nothing but props
drenched in memories, dripping our worst and best moments

if only i could soak up the residue
of the most breathtaking wave i have ever laid eyes on

remembering every deafening surf
i surrender myself to the cold pouring rain

each hard drop aches to wash off
the draining past from my empty face

once you told me
i get in the way of your happiness

but pure happiness
is just a colorless green idea sleeping furiously in our innocent minds