It\'s a poem at the daybreak
who comes to die in the arms
of a low tide that dares not...
Mist in the clear waves
of our sorrows .
Reflection in the mirror
of our pains .
Half-tone watercolors
which leaves the faded desires
of summer vanities ...
It\'s an angry poem
that refuses to say goodbye
and carries away this flight
of mourning birds
who go on pilgrimage
to where passions shipwrecked
in the lie of space time
and the cold fire
of the chimera\'s gaze ...
As this long-forgotten poet said :
\'\' There is no happy love ...\'\'
Just a date with a bouquet of regrets
and distracted oaths .
Wounded souls watching ecstasy pass by.
This scatterbrain has already forgotten ...
Small papers boats sailing away
on the gutters ...
Are words of love a farce to die for ?
Or a tragedy to laugh it better ?
And here ,we are old .
And we even start to believe in god...
As the poet of a past century proclaimed :
\'\' There is no happy love ! ...\'\'