The Passenger
Passager en première classe d'un train du passé,
A vive allure sans arrêts et sans destination,
Défilent de vaporeux paysages sombres et floutés,
Traversant l'intemporel et de funestes saisons.
I write poems, whether classical or in prose, out of necessity. Even though I admit how difficult it is to translate feelings into words, writing imposes itself on me. I place within it the past, the present, what passes through me and what strikes me. I denounce the injustice of this world, sometimes with revolt, sometimes with pain. Poetry channels me, soothes me, and allows me to find calm without ever silencing me. It is the space where I can say what I think, freely, whether it pleases or not.
Passager en première classe d'un train du passé,
A vive allure sans arrêts et sans destination,
Défilent de vaporeux paysages sombres et floutés,
Traversant l'intemporel et de funestes saisons.