by the sea
The joints of the stone floor sparkle,
I read a novel of Orhan Pamuk,
Tired of all the verbosities,
The fate has the beak and the wings of a crow,
It is the worst sins,
Those who love me go out of the shade.
I write this poem,
I do not know if it is of the poetry,
It is maybe the fate also,
This fate which kills me,
Time goes by,
I am a mediocre trinket which ignores the time,
All people manipulate me,
Are we alive demand Rimbaud?
Maybe not, after all
But we are toys, it is sure,
Who has fun with us?
To move forward, it is necessary to be several,
To be true, it is necessary to be alone.
I abandon my poem
On a kitchen table,
I abandon as such, joints sparkle,
The writing of Orhan Pamuk is soothing,
I think of the mosques of Istanbul,
Le sens se cache, nous le fuyons tous…..