Anick Roschi

Clandestine
 

In the hollow
Of a silver wave,
Young bodies
Run aground,

Dreams,
Froth smuggler,
Between your continents

The sea
Has its backwash,

Beyond
Its new clandestine borders

The sea
Has disastrous appointments.

Homage to Aung San Suu Kyi:
Orchid

At the seat of the Kings
An orchid
Dances its night

In the street the voices
Of the cuckoo of the crane
And the peacock
Are tinkling

Charged with emotion
The harp disguises
The goat, the cow, the horse
And the elephant

At the bestiary of the Kings
An orchid
Languishes the day

Anick Roschi © 2009

Capital Ground

Now is the shared time
Of our last riches

To each birth
Freedom
A drop of water
Thirsty of river
 
To each birth
Equality
A drop of sweat
Exhausted of misery

To each birth
Fraternity
A drop of air
Dirty of deserts

Now is the exorcised time
Of our planetary reasons

The articulated time
Of a capital
Ground.

Anick Roschi © 2009