I have a rendezvous with the artist .
Sometimes you come late at night
or too early life ...
you often have nothing to say to me,
except boredom and rain .
So we stay here ,gathering the flowers of the hours.
You step down from your star with the air
of a nonchalant Persian ,solar wind plenipotentiary...
Inspired whim that knows not where it comes from,
or what form it will take ...
I listen to you without laughing when you explain to me
just how serious your foolishness is ...
Do you think to be a poet ?
You\'re just a dancer balancing on a tightrope
of pastels and pastiches ...
Painting your lyrics in so many Babel blue
that I get lost in them.
Do you think to be a philosopher ?
Maybe just a spell caster and a seducer .
you call me, all confused ,telling :
\'\' Don\'t come ! Today I\'m in love until tonight ! \'\'
Always that old story I pretend to believe !
In the springtime of passion fruit ,
you always dream of autumnal melancholy...
I have a rendezvous with this artist who\'s
been bullying me ...
and to whom I don\'t know how to say \'\' Go away ! \'\'
But do I want really to shackle myself
with the chains of this freedom ?
Once again,I will be there to the rendezvous
with this artist living in me ...