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