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My pen is mourning the agonies and the sufferings
Of my people, who are drowning in the sea of misery.
My keyboard' strokes are shadowing the slow rhythms
Of the wandering beggar, who's lost in the sanctuary.

My voice denounces the filthy cholera and the injustices,
Which are punishing the weakest souls of the valley.
A tiny oligarchy is meagerly being rewarded;
What a shame for a man-made world corrupted with vices!

My daring pen defaces the inequality and the imbalance,
Which fool the image of a so called free world.
My laser beams burn the iris of the blind peasants,
Who can now see clearly the mini-sketch of my people.

I am the brother-in law of the cowardly executed poet
And the great-grandson of the poorest assassinated emperor.
I abhor the vanity and the lowliness of mankind in horror,
Oh! Lord, I'm going to read aloud twelve psalms, from my seat.

My pen is mourning my beloved people,
Who are innocently digesting the giant toxic apple.
My voice is seduced by the wind of liberty,
Which echoes the piercing screams of the hungry baby.

P.S. Translation of 'Ma Plume Pleure Du Sang' by Hebert Logerie.

Copyright© November 2010, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of four books of poems:
Ma plume pleure les souffrances
De mon peuple qui se noie dans la misère.
Mon stylo stylise les lentes cadences
D’un mendiant qui s’égare au sein de la galère.

Ma voix dénonce la vaine guerre et l’injustice
Qui punissent les plus impotents de la vallée.
Un petit groupe se voit maigrement récompenser,
Quelle honte pour un monde infesté de vices!

Mon pinceau démasque l’inégalité et le déséquilibre
Qui bottinent tout un univers soi-disant libre.
Mes 'rayons laser' brûlent l’iris des aveugles
Qui voient très clair le mini-tableau de mon peuple.

Je suis le gendre du poète lâchement exécuté
Et le petit-fils du plus pauvre empereur assassiné.
J’abhorre la vanité et la mièvrerie de l’homme
Qui se croit supérieur à l’hérisson et à la pomme.

Ma plume pleure pour mon peuple
Qui boit l’absinthe comme un aveugle.
Ma voix emportée par le vent de la liberté
Est pareille aux soupirs perçants des enfants affamés.

Copyright© 18 Mai 2010, Hebert Logerie, Tous Droits Réservés
Hébert Logerie est l’auteur de quatre recueils de poèmes.
I am thinking of you - as of a corpse
Go on and tell me all the lies
I am at legs of yours - heart-sunken
Eyes are dull - do eat the flesh I offer
The sole emasculation - paganism of truth
For asking hand is beaten - better
Deserters' solitude - abandoned hope
For never leaving guilt - ashamed
Of silence - welcoming to home
Seen flaws - are signs of given
Conscience - though shut - is mouth
Inaction - tethering regret to sorrow
And misery is standing by the side
Impersonating whole of circus
For beggar is forborn attention
"I'm here" - the drowning whisper
Arms choking throat - hand traces
Running tear - "I'm with you"
Caressing warmth of lifeless palm
Invites the strengthening of strangling
For frail innocence is crippled dome
"I do forgive you"
Pauvre peuple de nos pays
Pauvre peuple de chez nous
Pauvre peuple de partout
Pauvre peuple d’Haïti
Un peuple qui est pauvre, désorienté et fou
Je ne dirai plus 'pauvre Haïti'
Haïti est un pays plein de richesse
Haïti, un pays plein de ressources
Pour les autres
Haïti est un paradis et de bonnes sources
Pour les autres
Haïti est un pays plein d’hypocrisie
De peuples miséreux, misérables et de peines
Haïti est un lieu plein de traîtres et de haine
Haïti, Haïti ! Quelle ignominie !
Où ses dirigeants sont incompétents, mauvais et fous
Les jeunes d’Haïti n’ont pas de chance
A cause de ces faux leaders, et des laideurs avares sans sens
Quelle honte pour un peuple qui souvent a tant souffert
Les cimetières sont partout ainsi que les calvaires
Il y a tant de misère parce que les malandrins, les filous
Les hypocrites, les bandits, les fous et les crapules sont partout
C’est le pays où tant d’innocents meurent par les balles, par le fer
Par la haine, par l’hypocrisie, par la vengeance et par la misère
Quel saint doit-on invoquer pour ce peuple sans espoir
Pour nos frères et sœurs sans avenir qui meurent de désespoir ?
Quel Dieu sourd et saoulé doit-on prier pour sauver ces chrétiens
Qui lamentent, qui pleurent, qui crient et qui aboient comme des chiens ?
Quel mot doit-on utiliser pour muscler, dynamiser ce peuple affaibli
Et l’état qui existe malheureusement pour punir les victimes appauvris ?
Pauvre peuple de nos pays
Pauvre peuple de chez nous
Pauvre peuple de partout
Pauvre peuple d’Haïti
Pauvre peuple des États Unis.

P.S. Traduction de’ Poor People Of Our Countries’.

Copyright © Avril 2025, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs recueils de poésie.
Poor people of our countries
Poor people everywhere
Poor people of Haiti
People who are poor, disoriented, and crazy
I will no longer say ‘poor Haiti’
Haiti is a country full of wealth
Haiti, a country full of resources
For others
Haiti is a paradise and rich in resources
For others
Haiti is a country full of hypocrisy
Of destitute, miserable and suffering peoples
Haiti is a place full of hatred and backstabbers
Haiti, Haiti! What a disgrace! Where its leaders are dumb, evil, and crazy
Haitian youth and young people are very unlucky
Because the false and fake leaders are greedy, ugly and senseless
What a shame for a people who have often suffered so much
The Cemeteries are everywhere, so are the Churches and the Calvaries
There is so much misery there because the thieves, the crooks
Hypocrites, henchmen, bandits, madmen, and scoundrels are everywhere
This is the country where too many innocent people die by bullets, by iron
By hatred, by hypocrisy, by revenge, by ignorance and by poverty
Which saint should we invoke for these hopeless people
For our brothers and sisters without a future who are dying of despair?
What deaf and drunken God should we pray to save the followers of Christ
Who lament, who weep, who scream, and who bark like dogs?
What word should we use to strengthen and energize these weakened people
And the state which unfortunately exists to punish the impoverished victims?
Poor people here where we are
Poor people of our countries
Poor people everywhere
Poor people of Haiti
Poor people of these United States.

P.S. Translation of ‘ Pauvre Peuple De Chez Nous, De Nos Pays’.

Copyright © April 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
Mohsin Ahmad Apr 2
My puffed chest, full of (your) breath
Yet I Choke, yet I Suffocate.

Your hand in my hand, worlds entwined
Yet I Dream, yet I Fear.

Everything forgotten, in your embrace
Yet I Wander, yet I Fail.

Four meters destiny, clock tickling straight
Yet I Ignore, yet I Wait.

Everything's Dark, everything's great
Yet I see, yet I Bait.

I see It coming, I Run away
Yet It chases, yet It Wins.

Clutch my arm, and "me" above Fate
Oh my Darling, I Suffocate.
Yumi Apr 1
Dear god,
For all i have went through
I have no clue,
For why i have suffered
While not being heard,
You turned a blind eye
Letting my cries fade by,
You ignored my pleas
While i was on my knees,
Begging for you to take me
For which you never agree,
I wonder what i still have to see
In this world filled with misery.
What is love?
Oh, for me, it's a reflection.
Yes, a reflection of oneself.
It's a mirror that shows you the truth,
The meaning of real life.
It's a struggle filled with the puzzles of a loving heart.

Here, emotions burn, leaving ashes  behind.
An undying feeling, letting a soul wither.
The mind, an empty void is haunted by thousands of thoughts,
Ruining it with each passing second.
The feeling flows through each vein,
Like the sweetest nectar.

But once the same mirror breaks,
It becomes hard to breathe amid  millions of shattered pieces.
The heart forms scars that the soul fails to heal.
Here, the yearning comes to an end—
By a beautiful thing called love, which is a pure bliss, yet a complete misery.
What is life?
Is it the love we're getting?
Or the hatred that is burning?
Is it the darkness or the beautiful light that shines bright?

We all live here in this illusion,
Fantasizing about the warmth that we all crave the most.
We fear to touch the fire of love,
But still let ourselves burn in it.
Here, all of us fight for our loved ones,
But we fail to protect them.

In the end, a mysterious darkness comes and steals all the light from our life.
I wonder what it is?
And I finally realize that it is the end of our struggle, but yet the beautiful life.
The life which we all yearned for.
Yes, that same life which was nothing but a complete misery.
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