Un autre

dans ma chair le temps passe, en soufflant

vers la vide le miel du matin s’écoulait

le soleil brille

en pente, les poussières volent au vent

les corps sombres rassemblant

“Est-il beau?” – il m’a demandé, un autre

Qui m’apportera les fruits d’été

pourrissant

dans le forêt au paradis

mes jours se fanent

tremblant, par terre

ponctuel, d’un éclair au rendez-vous dans la peau éphémère

 

Today morning, while I was riding my bicycle to the office, dans ma chair le temps passe, en soufflant came to my head and lingered. Et voilà, un poème! For me, a self-labelled Francophile, French is incredibly poetic, much more so than English, I believe. Even merde sounds cool. LOL Well, it is the first time I compose a poem totally on a computer, the task which I finished with a great maiden delight.

Anyway, I will read the poem in SLAMPoésie at Institut Français Saigon later in the evening. 😀 On croise les doigts.

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