Anick Roschi


In the hollow

Of a silver wave,

Young bodies

Run aground,


Froth smuggler,

Between your continents

The sea

Has its backwash,


Its new clandestine borders

The sea

Has disastrous appointments.

Homage to Aung San Suu Kyi:


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


A drop of water

Thirsty of river

To each birth


A drop of sweat

Exhausted of misery

To each birth


A drop of air

Dirty of deserts

Now is the exorcised time

Of our planetary reasons

The articulated time

Of a capital


Anick Roschi © 2009