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lyrics & poems
There, in the strange unlocked dust of our pole, he is dragging on,
the cat behind the bus, he is considering the consequences. It’d be
worth examining the question, question of merit, question of
principle, of appropriateness, of recoiling, of looking, of
circumstances, of time, of decay.
To forget the blood without ever achieving it, to run without the
salt of our salty, prized, destroyed seas.
Go back into yourself.
Fold down the manners, double the distance, oh, is that your case,
what is all that? Caesura in time, the statements are free, vain, or
crying, distorted.
Aimé Césaire, I am free to give you a smile.