~
Another green world
reels them in

unfledged
lovers

they yearn
to be hydro-electric

cascading over
emerald and stone

floating along
with the water hyacinth

where they evaporate
but do not falter

in the naked spring
of continuously November

jumping off
a bridge above ecosystem

a new frontier
under their nose

as souvenir:
pioneers to the fall

and yet all they really
need to remember is

this is where they
first made love
~

Oh Menah
Pride of africa
Pride of the blackrace
Beautiful like d morning rose
Timid eyes like the clean morning water of "ESSURUN"
Great sense of humour
Aspiring and ambitious
Hardworking and caring
Beautiful is AFRICAN and the black race

She cared enough to buy him
apples in the rain.
Mena his jasmine,
the love of yesterday
repaid by images of simple snow

tell me can you love my black
even when it's about to crack
falling through gates of hell
your black don't crack but mine did
after too many lies and too many wounds that never healed before others grew
your black don't crack but mine did
after too many burns by kind actions with ill intent and too many souls that came but did not stay
your black don't crack but mine did
after too many cries of help that went unanswered and too many words that went unsaid
-Mena W.

it's hard to imagine gin gin gin a pseudo-ariθmeτic behind every coupled word utilising the Logos, a -logy, because what is the motivational word behind it, truly? it could be any word, mind me saying. logistically speaking each compound aligning itself to some -logy (logistics) will know the parameters, in question π, the infinity basis, the irrational ever-after, 3 point whatever, we can scrutinise with millimetre, and the infinitely regressive divide of the circle, hell, heading toward the nanometre, but still the compact, intact π... but there has to be some ariθmetic involved! the easiest to understand logic of mathematics is buried in arithmetic... but words are too large to suit patterns in consistently changing: try fitting a word like apple through a keyhole denoting five one three (513 / five hundred and thirteen, arithmetic conjunctions, spelling)... in the end all you need is A... that's what happens when you riddle the stupidity, you can't make-up 26 units with the craze of ∞, not so much 1 0 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0  1, no algorithm bouncy castle: no hip hip hooray! i mean, what logic is there behind these philosophical words, what arithmetic? what words are required to say 1 + 1 = 2 ontologically? i have an etymological example, but prior to the example i was told to state: certain phonetic encodings are for aesthetic purposes, the C and the K, musicology, cat, clever, clover, kettle, keenly etc. - existence of aesthetic purposes, and dyslexia - we write in complex encoding for the encoding to look the ***** - otherwise we'd be writing like salvaged Latin of Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli (famous for his sonnets, e.g.): the city (acronym c, i know, unitary acronym, the wonder) - both S & K whenever the lady minds to change her posture of SIX P's, popes, priests, princes, prostitutes, parasites and the poor - in poem, the lost aesthetic, excess spelling, no diacritical reprimand: starting with the word cappuccino - perfectó! (ó, not like a Polish u morph, but like a shove, a throw, like an olé! tremor prior to the gesture... a Mexican wave at a football match, the build up... oooooooooo lé! that included no W - see, the tetragrammaton coupled with a systematic vocabulary does wonders, hence the necessary shortening... OH LÉ! catch a breath, catch a breath... take two. the two hatches of the tetragrammaton are more than a deja vu, they're more like jugglers of vowels, the first extends, the second curbs - i might not love the Jews but i love the geometry of YHWH... love it to the extreme, never have i come across people who desire nationhood but are so reluctant to settle there, the intelligent ones preferring exile (the exodus) than hope for a genesis (Zionism). i swear i was supposed to write an etymological poem, sidetracked mentioning Giuseppe and cappuccinos... chinos or khaki? never mind...
vio sentite una madre. ammalappena la cratura c'ha
ffatta ha cquarche ggiorno, ggià è la prima cratura der contorno,
e ssi jje dite che nun è, vve mena -
he salvaged the ******* Titanic of all Titanics and left it aesthetically ugly - look at the alphabet, ugly as **** in the practice of composition, what did he do? look at it! gee gee, if two letters joined necessary, clones, there exists no law to coerce them into a grapheme, like in cappuccino - or Gucci, or Coco Chanel - can't make a tongue-tie within cappuccino if you don't know the basics: like Chino, Chai Tea Latte... siberian grizzly... rrrrraaa... mimic schizophrenia,  the best advice is to mimic a Roman Forum, democracy, make writing democratic, this is democracy, we will not have authoritarian rule of a rigid narrator! burn 'em! burn 'em! no peeping toms here, no omni-voyeurism. but you'd be lucky to pick out the slobbering with accents to a piquant stress worthy of distinguished notation, say it's all Cockney and you'll throw pears down a few ladders; oh yeah, ****'s stable: Coco Shanel but written Chanel - and we're selling chastity while burrowing in chimneys on the shly.

seriously... an etymological poem, using one word:
skleroza* (yes, colon and italics after, a heresy, i know,
but a necessary double emphasis).

paranoia and pronoun usage: the notorious they and he.

so, skleroza, etymological root-prefix: sklera-
or, simply sclera, i.e. adjectives opaque,
fibrous, protective - Westminster Abbey bells at
a wedding - ding ****, ding **** -
so relating to the eye, pertaining if you must -
now what to do with the suffix -roza?
well... there's Barbarossa - pinkish, i say,
although stressed to a geographic region a rose
is actually róża - yes, rose - couple them
together and you get: a rosy blankness -
simulation of momentary dementia -
****! where did i leave the keys?! skleroza
is a short-lived memory gap, a momentary
loss of memory, a funny sort, means you're
abstracting, abstracting a pain akin to
the arithmetic of, e.g. 1 + √43 + 23 - 100 x 2 ÷ 50 + 1000...
a weird sort of pain trying to work that one out...
so, to the limit of the what's behind skleroza,
utilising the arithmetic of etymology:
a rosy blankness - the automated form of forgetting,
that's protective, in terms of a permanent association
of forgetfulness - the easiest burden:
so there you have it, etymology, the logic infuriated with
linear associations and modulations using +, -, x and ÷.

I’M FEELING FONDERFUL & WANTASTIC IN SHAPESHIP CONDITION  
From the 11th diary entry of Stewy Lemmon's childhood adventures.  
 
Smoochy, my dad Archie and I, all went sailing yesterday morning, in the very large blue ocean. We went on dad's small, banana-shaped, sailingboat, which took about two hours to get there by car, from my family's home. Which, is nestled amongst the trees on a hill, in a little country village called, Shimmerleedimmerlee.  
 
It was my second time out in dads small, banana-shaped, sailingboat. But, it was Smoochy's first time in a boat on water. Although, he is famous around town, for being the first mouse, that has been out to sea, on the back of a whale.  
 
My Dad, was trying to teach me how to steer the boat, tie up the ropes, weigh anchor and all sorts of other boatie, thingy-me-jiggy things, that you should learn. That's if, you ever want to sail a boat by yourself, especially when you are older, like I will hopefully do one day.  
 
We were learning a lot and enjoying the morning together, until my dad, moved the sail, riggy-diggy-thingy. You know, the thing that helps all sailboats stay on course and turn when they want. 'You know what I mean, don't you'?  
 
But, silly old me didn't move out of the way in time. Whack, went the riggy-diggy-thingy, wooden beam thing, straight into my head and then thump, I fallen down backwards, which caused a bump on the back of my head, that was clearly the size of a bumpity-bump, speed ****.  
 
Then, dad's, small, banana-shaped, sailingboat, started sailing towards a colourful pirate ship, that had an unusual Jolly Roger, an old pirate's flag on top of its mast. It looked like a picture of a family of yellow tailed bears under a tree, in a mountain range with a hot air balloon stuck high above. The name of the ship, which was spelt out across its bow was, Shift-N-About.  
 
When, we were beside the pirate ship, we climbed up Jacob's ladder, onto the ship. Then, some funny looking crew members, named, Anastasia and Houllio, welcomed me aboard and said, 'Ahoy, me Hearty'! I looked in disbelief and said back to them both, ' Hello, my friends, haven't I seen you perform somewhere before'?  
 
Then, Johnny whose nickname was, 'Hamanail', the ships very own handyman, and his apprentice named, Little Cutsaw Stevie, threw me into the corner and tied me down tight with some, really awful, fish smelling, rope.  
 
Smoochy, The Short, who wore a yellow feather tail in his hat, was the ships lookout officer. With his trusty homemade, fancy, far out, funny binoculars, he would look out for trouble, while nestled, high up above, in the ships crow's nest. Which, by the way, looked very much like my dad's, unusually built and outrageously painted, backyard, outback shed.  
 
The pirate ship also had its own mascot and his name was, Bucko the Duckaneer. Who, always sat in the top left-hand side pockets, of the Captain's identical, twin, lassie daughters, Lena and Mena, at different times of the day.  
 
Then, a boat was seen approaching at super duper fast speed and with the waves his boat was making, tossed the homemade pirate ship Shiftnabout, Slip Slop and Slapping all about, just like inside a waterlogged washing machine full of sea fish.  
 
The Captain Triple T said, 'Fire a shot, across the bow of that super fast boat. Savvy, which he yelled out to him. It actually, really means, 'Do you understand the warning and do you agree with me'?  
 
But the super fast boats captain, Stefan Pettersson of North Noland, who was just cruising past, laughed and shook his head again. He then took off, in his super, fast boat named, Snowski. See! 'You are just another Scallywag, who tried to scuttle my ship.  
 
Is everything shipshape in the galley, ye cook down below? Then, up popped a head and said, 'Yay, everything is **** n Span in the kitchen of mine'. All cleaned up and under control, Flo the Cook was yelling, while handling the very hot bread dough.  
 
Smoochy the Short screamed out, 'Thar she blows'. Smoochy the Short, the ships lookout officer had spotted a very large fish. Blimey! He said, 'It's not a large fish, it's a very familiar whale and it's headed our way.  
 
Captain Billy Stilrite hollered, 'Shiver-Me-Timber and Blow-Me-Down'.  
 
Then, the whale deliberately, slammed into his pirate ship. It was, his pride and joy, even it was cheaply made from wooden ply.  
 
Holy Crap! Aaaarrrrgggghhhh! He yelled in disgust. The whale had managed to rip a large hole in the ship, and out fell the pirate's treasure into the swell. Down and down it went, with all the pirate's mouths wide open and dropping to the floor. But, not a word came out, like you would've expected. They, should've of at-least, managed a groan or a yell.  
 
Then, another pirate ship named, Shining-No-More, had come to steal gold coins and so much more, from the pirate ship we were aboard, named,  
 
Shift-N-About. But, the large hole that the whale had made, was filling up with water and beginning to sink.  
 
Yo ** **! screamed, Captain Triple T, to me, 'Walk the plank now and never be seen on my pirate ship again'. He said, 'That I had made all of this happen'. But, I said, 'It wasn't my fault, for I was knocked out cold and only napping'.  
 
Then, all of the crew started clapping, once I was upon the plank and taking very small steps at a time.  
 
The crew aboard the Shining Amor, felt sorry for the other ships crew and started to help them all aboard. They were helped by people with funny names, such as, Admiral Monty Lopez from the Spanish Armada, 'One would think'!Then, others like Lemmy Rolling-River and even the ship's butler named, Albert Will-That-B-All, the eighth of course.  
 
They, were about to rescue me, but I slipped and fell, head first and took a great dive. Then, I thought while down under here, I might as well start searching, for the sunken treasure.  
 
On my way down, I saw all sorts of things, like a small fish, that didn't smell so nice and even an old rusty knight in shining armor. I even saw a dog with a great big Danish flag around its neck. Also, I saw a yellow duck, an orange Tabby cat and even a guinea pig, swimming on by.  
 
I then saw, the chest full of treasure and made my way towards my find. But when I looked closer, it wasn't treasure at all. It was a glass of my favourite Fruit-Blast, that my mum, had left out for me. She, had made it especially for me, so when I woke up, my head wouldn't feel sore anymore.  
 
For after my great fall, my dad, had sailed back to shore. Then, he carried me into the back of the family's car and drove me home to bed.  
 
When i awoke, my Mum came in to ask, 'How I felt'. I told her, 'I'm feeling Fonderful & Wantastic in shapeship condition, I think!  
 
For none of my fun pirate adventures were even real. For, I was unconscious and it was just an adventurous dream, a very colourful and funny one indeed, it would seem.

Kembali lagi terluka
Terluka karena sebuah kata bernama cinta
Ini bukan kisah cinta dan rangga
Ini kisahku bersama dia yang  ku puja

Ku#love #hurt painrang setia apa aku padanya
Melirik makhluk lain pun aku tak pernah
Kurang setia apa aku padanya
Dia marah aku tak pernah bantah

Lalu dia buat diriku semena-mena
Apa ini yang dia katakan cinta?
Apa ini yang dia katakan takkan mendua?
Apa ini yang dia katakan menjaga janji kita?

Aku hanya bisa menahan
Membungkam segala kekecewaan
Menyimpan segala kesedihan
Menutupi segala penderitaan

a[ɛ]m I going psychotic in my dA̲[ɛ]mn mind
or ma[ɛ]nkind is on a deranged ride
[in fact, I prefer the word "humankind", but it doesn't fit with the rhyme pattern]
on an armored train? like that power-cray
North Korean son of a bo[ɑ]mb afraid
of his own go[ɑ]ddamn shadow, for it, ju[ɪ]st like
this *****#cking fatso's order, is quite
terrible; on a reckless ride that's
go[ʌ]nna take
the highly developed kind back
fro[ʌ]m the age
of reason to the uncivilized past's
darksome days
["dark somedays"]
(probably the latter)
————————————————————————————————
should be in a mental asylum watched over (why?)
off my "meds" like some iron-grip jE̲rkwad
[the meds were mostly video games]
in power striking a wA̲r up
an indescribable U̲rge to wreak destruction & ******
[mostly lyrically]
as if I were a horse-riding enforcer of the Apo[ɑ]calypse or a
jihadist supporter of the IslA̲mist new order
heading to a spot with the public galO̲re to
turn up at; I'm highly avE̲rse to
autocracy, but tyrant-like to[—]ward a kindergartner-like verser
half-a## writers, conformers, & allies of usurpers
better put on something fire-sound or go underground
like the Camorra or Johaness Arnesson, fO̲r I
["for I" is supposed to be read/pronounced as "fora"]
[Camorra is a part of the underworld]
[Johannes Arnesson (Owl Vision) makes underground type of electronic music]
am, like when a living victim's hide's being bU̲rned to
muscles by a hob O̲r a cutting blowpipe, a fierce torcher
["torture"]
and if there were, like Ivan the Fourth, a
terrible tsar & a murker, like a hitman satisfying hit orders
[the reign of Ivan the Terrible is infamous for, inter alia, tortures]
for me to take my pick like a **** 𝑓𝑜[ɔ]𝑡𝑘𝑎
["pic."]
I'd, like the wight-like equine rider
direct my sight on the former (scythe); you hardly can stI̲r up
[Death, the pale one of the 4 horsemen of the Apocalypse]
a spark, I've come to the taiga & stI̲rred up
a violent inferno; while in the wilds, I've discerned a
couple of male old-timers encircled
by some guards & cam workers; a fire fiend, for the
restless mind is like a flamethrower
which this corruption-plagued world su—
—pplies with fuel like a "Flying J" servo
don't get this wrong, I can't be bothered re[eɪ]
which kai is fave by which state, but I'm afraid
autocracy is, in the China vein, on the rise today (on the rice)
but, for the sake of a fighter plane
laying f#cking waste to a ride or train
with an autocratic ******* aboard
what is a singular someO̲ne that ain't
a well-savvy hacktivist nor
a sick gunfighter, like Max Payne
to do when the disbalance between a civil society
and a regime in some abysmal auto[ɑ]cracy
is so grave there's nothing safe
and rock-solid, like a tungsten *****
to do to undermine this state
of affairs? apply the cre[i]do of yours
to whatever at which you are versed
that's why I'm engaged in my anti-autocratic rhyme crusade
[previously to this one: "punishment of an autocrat"; "надвигался 2022-ой" ➔]
[➔ "a couple of words for dictators" & anti-authoritarian fragments ➔]
[➔ of some other rhyme pieces published by me]
I might lO̲O̲k to be an evil-minded skate
now, but, seizing the opportunity
like some viced ***** gained
a role O̲f a rU̲ler with
an unchecked political might & aimed
at establishing a tight-grip reign inside the state
there's something I'd like to say
I hhhooock... thooo... spit on tyrants' graves
and graves of their compliant aides
without the slightest shame, I, like a crane for construction, raze
["raise"]
their heads—tones by a mace from the knightly age
bet taphophiles ain't gonna like the way
in which I behave; ones who're enviro-cray
better get fire squa[ɑ]ds awake like a rite that takes
place after someone's life has waned
wholly (a wake), 'cause I get mY̲ hands laid
on a pulverizer with spirits of wine & spray
it on those scheissers' grave—yards, then make
'em go, like the face of someone laughing so wildly they
are about to split their sides, ablaze
and I've barely gotten underway
lyrics-wise, I'm gonna give a harsh time
to a power-blinded, nazissistic go[ɑ]bshite
a sort of tea party which you'll no[ɑ]t like
'cause there's a billypo[ɑ]t rife with steaming splo[ɑ]sh I've
got in the pipeline, like oil, & will be pleased to slo[ɑ]sh right
into your filthy mug, swine, so here's a piece of a[ɑ]dvice
better get equipped with some wipes
and something chilling, much like
a horror game when you sit without lights
and with earphones on in the middle o[ʌ]f night
it may seem now as if I'm a kitchen cart guy
and you're at an eating spo[ɑ]t (why?)
'cause you're about to get served
scuzz, I'ma strike
a lyrical skewer through your mouth & your stern
just like a swine
————————————————————————————————
it is night-time, like the pre-enlightenment E̲[i]poch, but I'm
["knight time"]
like a ballista sho[ɑ]t flyi[—]ng
the target's way, in the open air & quite away
like an anthracite aflame/ablaze
["(a) vay" (Malagasy) - "(a) glowing coal"]
nearby the gates of your sublime estate
a mite ashamed to say this, but I might be ta'en
for the Russian state or the "Hamas" brigade (why?)
these premises are like Ukraine
or Israel, respectively, inasmuch as they
are gonna be violated sI̲m. to a victim of a ******; finna
penetrate your villa like the agent Fisher
[Sam Fisher from the "Splintel Cell" videogame series]
which is gonna be made much quicker
than you, a[ɛ]nxious geezer, would make a lady stimu—lated I̲nto
the ****** state; your security system & lights are way
like a surgeon who's armless, they no longer o[ɑ]perate (ha-ha)
'cause I have an EMP device in play; the weather, by the way
is trash, raining, just like Hussein in his presiding days (trash, reigning)
but your cap-cladded daw[ɑ]gs remain
outside despite that & an adage Russians say
that a dog keeper that is mindful ain't
gonna let his dogs be outside at the time it rains
or when some other weather that's bad becomes the case
but thA̲t's, un—like the sign that's made
of metal & acts A̲s an
indication that it's a co[ɑ]p you face
not a bother; like a register that has an
["buzzer", in the sense of "police badge"]
abundant range
of info about a vile regime's pieces of crap having
rank slides, such as their addies, mug sho[ɑ]ts, & names
a specialist, the black-cladded
["special list"]
crusader from the Norsefire-tyrannized UK
in the Guy Fawkes mask strapped with
[V from "V For Vendetta"]
a blowgun with darts, like the pirate claimed
the title of an assassin
[Edward Kenway from "Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag"]
by which I sedate those diletta[ɑ]nte[—]s ordained
to guard your place as I slyly make my go[ɑ]ddamn way
forth like a farcE̲U̲r coming out
of behind the stage
lock pick the door of your house
then walk inside like a pro[ɑ]mena[eɪ]de (walking site)
while touring around
the pretty so[ɑ]lid place
of yours, I encoun—
—ter your do[ɑ]xy draped
with a corse[—]let-like towel
not far away from the room in which you shower, bathe
with her bo[ɑ]dy shape, to one whose mind's unchaste
she's like a va—cant front seat to one whose sight's debased
hard not to try & take; but, given the time & place, I try to stay
away from these broad thoughts like an ex-****-bawd (thots)
besides your inviting bae
like a ship-parking space nearby a pirate-obliging place
["inviting bay"]
I descry your maid nearby the kitchen-dinette; they
both get tranquilized, like someO̲ne who came
for a massage, & chained to pillars of a ba[ɑ]lustrade
with their gobs sealed with parcel tape
arrived a mite hungry, so I knife a slice
off of an icebox pie I came bY̲ inside
the fridge of yours, then eat it sE̲rved on
your high-cost plate
using your silver fork &
your table knife engraved
with a rhomb grid adornment
(some would think you're a perfectionist, like me when I undertake)
(rhyming like an Eastern person)
["ramen"]
(but, in accordance with what my mindset says)
(it's more likely you're just pretty corny)
(like rappers whose lines display their consumerism-governed brains)
(and whose body of rhymes is shaped in an unenticing way)
once the meal's finished, like a rival/fighter slain
in a "Mortal Ko[ɑ]mbat" fray, I leave your tableware defiled, same
as that pious place, in which ***** Riot made
a protest performance
pU̲t on, like that unashamed
co[ɑ]cky, a la desert soldiers
["khaki"]
autocratic swine that reigns in the north-east mo[ɑ]bster state
some high-octane tunes fro[ʌ]m a play—
—list of mine, then start to make your hideaway
[it's supposed that the EMP effect has gone by this time, so electronics are able to function]
look like it faced the wildest rave that mustered skates
who have, like a wrE̲cking ball
a disorganizing trait
towards stuff that's ta[ɛ]ngible
and are prone to territory-marking, same
as what's done by a[ɛ]nimals
or bY̲ street ga[ɛ]ngs
quite an effortful
jo[ɑ]b awaits your unlucky maid
or whoever you're gonna choose to invite & pay
in order to neutralize the may—hem caused by my stay
————————————————————————————————
such a misfortune you, A̲##hole
are away from your glorious castle
which is, like a brutal ******
that you are, looking nO̲[ɑ]t so
["nutso"]
glorious now if you look insI̲de, *** (ha-ha)
you stupid ****̲teball, ***** you, li̲ke bolts

Ami, vous revenez d'un de ces longs voyages
Qui nous font vieillir vite, et nous changent en sages
Au sortir du berceau.
De tous les océans votre course a vu l'onde,
Hélas ! et vous feriez une ceinture au monde
Du sillon du vaisseau.

Le soleil de vingt cieux a mûri votre vie.
Partout où vous mena votre inconstante envie,
Jetant et ramassant,
Pareil au laboureur qui récolte et qui sème,
Vous avez pris des lieux et laissé de vous-même
Quelque chose en passant !

Tandis que votre ami, moins heureux et moins sage,
Attendait des saisons l'uniforme passage
Dans le même horizon,
Et comme l'arbre vert qui de **** la dessine,
A sa porte effeuillant ses jours, prenait racine
Au seuil de sa maison.

Vous êtes fatigué, tant vous avez vu d'hommes !
Enfin vous revenez, las de ce que nous sommes,
Vous reposer en Dieu.
Triste, vous me contez vos courses infécondes,
Et vos pieds ont mêlé la poudre de trois mondes
Aux cendres de mon feu.

Or, maintenant, le cœur plein de choses profondes,
Des enfants dans vos mains tenant les têtes blondes,
Vous me parlez ici,
Et vous me demandez, sollicitude amère !
- Où donc ton père ? où donc ton fils ? où donc ta mère ?
- Ils voyagent aussi !

Le voyage qu'ils font n'a ni soleil, ni lune ;
Nul homme n'y peut rien porter de sa fortune,
Tant le maître est jaloux !
Le voyage qu'ils font est profond et sans bornes,
On le fait à pas lents, parmi des faces mornes,
Et nous le ferons tous !

J'étais à leur départ comme j'étais au vôtre.
En diverses saisons, tous trois, l'un après l'autre,
Ils ont pris leur essor.
Hélas ! j'ai mis en terre, à cette heure suprême,
Ces têtes que j'aimais. Avare, j'ai moi-même
Enfoui mon trésor.

Je les ai vus partir. J'ai, faible et plein d'alarmes,
Vu trois fois un drap noir semé de blanches larmes
Tendre ce corridor ;
J'ai sur leurs froides mains pleuré comme une femme.
Mais, le cercueil fermé, mon âme a vu leur âme
Ouvrir deux ailes d'or !

Je les ai vus partir comme trois hirondelles
Qui vont chercher bien **** des printemps plus fidèles
Et des étés meilleurs.
Ma mère vit le ciel, et partit la première,
Et son œil en mourant fut plein d'une lumière
Qu'on n'a point vue ailleurs.

Et puis mon premier-né la suivit ; puis mon père,
Fier vétéran âgé de quarante ans de guerre,
Tout chargé de chevrons.
Maintenant ils sont là, tous trois dorment dans l'ombre,
Tandis que leurs esprits font le voyage sombre,
Et vont où nous irons !

Si vous voulez, à l'heure où la lune décline,
Nous monterons tous deux la nuit sur la colline
Où gisent nos aïeux.
Je vous dirai, montrant à votre vue amie
La ville morte auprès de la ville endormie :
Laquelle dort le mieux ?

Venez ; muets tous deux et couchés contre terre,
Nous entendrons, tandis que Paris fera taire
Son vivant tourbillon,
Ces millions de morts, moisson du fils de l'homme,
Sourdre confusément dans leurs sépulcres, comme
Le grain dans le sillon !

Combien vivent joyeux qui devaient, sœurs ou frères,
Faire un pleur éternel de quelques ombres chères !
Pouvoir des ans vainqueurs !
Les morts durent bien peu. Laissons-les sous la pierre !
Hélas ! dans le cercueil ils tombent en poussière
Moins vite qu'en nos cœurs !

Voyageur ! voyageur ! Quelle est notre folie !
Qui sait combien de morts à chaque heure on oublie ?
Des plus chers, des plus beaux ?
Qui peut savoir combien toute douleur s'émousse,
Et combien sur la terre un jour d'herbe qui pousse
Efface de tombeaux ?

Le 6 juillet 1829.

That one person can restore your faith in love,
And rob you of it at the same time - Maria Mena