La maladie d'aimer.

Read English translation in Page: 'Love as a disease.'

Je ne peux pas vous raconter

par ou elle est rentrée

ni comment

ni quand

ni pourquoi.

Il lui fallut inventer

une raison sans doute,

un argument,

une autre maladie,

l'amitié par exemple.

Quelqu'un lui a donné un laissé passé

pour avoir accès

a un terrain accidenté

celui qu'on appelle amour,

la maladie du cœur gros.

Tout doucement j'ai ouvert cette porte

restée fermée depuis trop longtemps.

Tu es partie sans même être entrée.

A tu vu les débris derrière moi?

Je t'ai fait peur?

Pourquoi...

alors que mon amour est aussi innocent que

le rire d'un bébé?

Maintenant je dois me consoler d'une

perte, pire

que d'avoir perdu un père inconnu.

Le trésor de mes pensées s'échappe entre mes doigts,

mes pas se perdent.

et je me noie dans mes larmes.

Je me demande si tu as claquée la porte en quittant?

Elle ne ferme pas bien, la clef c'est perdue

et parfois

elle reste entre ouverte.

Disastrous Decision

(did...) You recognize the feeling. (?)

It smells

like (dirty) ol' socks.

You remember the odo(u)r

from previous occasions

swearing a holy oath:

'It will not happen again.'

(Sing it if you dare!)

At sunset you doubt... but

(pronounce almost: bod)...

unhampered by recklessness

you engage yourself

in a battle

(pronounce almost: bottle)...

you can't win

But Being Brave

(forget about Being, I just love the three Bees)...

you're losing yourself

into a childish dream.

At sunrise you're lost.

The heat in your body

left by an un-di-ges-ted 

meal has tempered 

the ambitions.

Scraps for the birds,

(It's raining) cats and dogs.

The only leash is tailor-made,

keeps you in the past

as a remnant.

I don't dare to sing under this shower.

I'm locked in a

Determined Disastrous Decision

(forget about Determined, I just love the three Dees).

Rebellious words.

My words are unwilling dancers on my screen.
Through my tears they look ugly, miscreated.

They implore, beg, cry and shout.

And when I come to rescue them,

when I delete 

those asking for compassion

they reappear in another sentence to 

defy and mock me.

Only when I read them out loud

they concur cautiously.

Through their wildcat strikes

they tell me my language is inappropriate,

my words to poetical instead of

unconditional hardcore. 

They want to reflect the outside society and 

refuse me to describe beauty and love.

And once written for the eternity

they still hide for those to whom they are dedicated.

I had that dream.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. 

Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

I had that dream...

You were showing him around.

The kid,

was maybe eight or nine

years old.

At the beginning you

were walking

hand in hand.

Sometimes you

were caressing his hair

affectionately.

The most

memorable moments

were when

standing still

your hands were

resting on his fragile

shoulders,

a mother's only touch,

his head resting on your belly,

both watching

a lake, a river

a three, a plant,

a mountain, a landscape.

Some syllables

whiffle into my deaf ears...

words I have seen your lips mumble

seconds before,

or was it maybe

minutes, hours before

they became a sentence,

a phrase I could clearly understand:

"Mi hijo, I wanted you to see these places that your dad used to love."

At awakening I made up my mind.

Deciding

to love you,

knowing

only you are capable of this.