Category Archives: English translation

Degenerated Eugenics

On your mark, ready? Go!
Just launched, there’s already one on the finish line.
He didn’t cheat, no,
He just has a better aptitude,
Better qualifications.
It’s posted, it’s affirmed.

If you don’t understand what I’m writing to you,
I hope you will at least be tempted to open a book.
Because to be dead tired is sad, I vomit
When it happens to a person who only knows how to squat.

I just want to “discuss”, they naturally want to “exchange”.
I will never understand their scheduled escape,
Mathematics, they don’t even have a vague idea.
I feel dark
When these people sink;
This creates a tension that tends Zion so much it goes to my head.
You know, will isn’t pure sin,
Even if they have calculated the future in the past.

I crossed the cape, so, frankly,
I bring meaning into your white head.
Do you understand the steep path you have to take?
Knowledge and virtue are watchwords.
This is as true for them as 1 + 1 = 0.
I move forward in time difference to surprise them.
Above, I say more than: “we must hang them”.

When the worst comes up to me, I have a backward movement,
And I stretch because I know we’ll learn it in the ass.
And basically, it’s in the shade that one takes color,
So I abound with positive waves until I cry
Too many times not to give more ideas
And shape the cinema that awaits me within reach.

(This last paragraph was difficult to translate into English as it plays on double meanings in French)

Eternal

How many individuals asked for help in a half-tone,
And how many will insist again through a beautiful lament,
Almost embarrassed to confess that they lose foot,
Though tempting to open their hearts to what suits them.

What affliction when tribulations in the prison point to inaction.
Consolation in reclusion, dismay without cooperation,
At the edge of the basement window, immersion in an immense fairground of perdition;
Ouch! Losing diction.
It’s in the negation of these evils that speech returns.

Who closes his eyes becomes (in)capable of guilt?
There is no choice between culinary art and heartbreak;
Yob, don’t run away from yourself, drived into prostitution under radar;
Be cheeky to cultivate clean air and culminate in heart.

If my words articulate the abstraction of my actions,
And if I hammer them over and over again –
Charming irony of fate –
Perhaps they will land in secret within the concrete
That desmay me, but willingly attract my will
Towards a divine infinity which denatures me in constellation.

Incantare

Attempt to write in front of entertainment
Comes down to foolishly plunge into nothingness,
Because consciousness is altered by a smoke screen
Who reasons with one voice in oneself.

Why want to sow so much terror and confusion,
If not to break the phantasm of an instinctive hope?

Thus, the thought is locked away tirelessly
At the simple request of an artificial idea recreating
A semblance of reality in order to eclipse
The creative ideas that may arise from a sharp mind.

Perhaps it can satisfy an awkward,
And, moreover, make him curse such a shriek,
But the sagacious embraces only fleetingly
Such an enchantment by leaving a trace.

Mirage

I often hear: “If it blow, I go out in the street”
But every morning they leave for the hive.
Soon, it’s “take that and hush,” and
In fact, want more …

There’s no miracle solution if you’re lost in the mirage.
Do you see the cleavages stranded on the shore?
If you’ve failed, it’s weird;
Maybe you’re not a good pirate?

At this moment, the guy on the watchtower sleeps a lot.
He’s drunk, completely crazy;
Dry and strong, especially.
He drags you into a storm without dawdling;
On the pretext of sex, it’s annoying,
But true.

He said releasing the freedom of his chains thanks to progress,
But drunkard, he denies that his task
Is to be condemned to perpetuate legitimate violence.
Feeling the boat pitching, soon he leans, embarrassed,
Paying handsomely bitches and zealous guys
In order to perpetuate the farce, one last day, for pity’s sake!

Lost Love

Where are you my Love ?
You who were there when I most needed a roof;
You who has always read
In my heart incomparably,
Perceived this sinister state which tears
My being far from appeareance.
Yes, you cared for my soul without running away,
I proclaim it without shining!

Where are you my Love ?
Do you remember our virtuous story?
Do you think about it before you fall asleep,
When comes the glorious night?
Or am I the only victim of my illusions of hope,
Turning round in the depths of purgatory,
Rotting, lifeless?

Where are you my Love ?
I find you by chance in a short letter,
Frozen sentiments
In a moment that slipped into the past.
With pallor,
I contemplate the pain that’s shortening.
Absurd juggler
Victim of the torment that drips
These taciturn emotions.

Where are you, my heart?
If the errors make it stronger,
They also seem to be able to kill, sometimes.
I’m dying of fear at home,
Surrounded by a wry decor,
In weightlessness …
Great dismay, or I don’t know, yet.

The mind replays what the heart can’t forget;
Mourning a person who is still alive,
What a strange idea.
It’s disturbing to imagine
Becoming perfect strangers,
Forever.
I believe that part of me will await you in perpetuity here,
O my love.

Dreams and Reality

It often rains, but not tonight.
The silence is filled, it’s quite late.
So many answers that lie dormant.
So many questions awakening.

On the other side of the window, I notice depression.
But in this mythical instant, such a beautiful acceleration
Of thought, mystical intensification
Supposed rewarded without offset.
Arrange in cadence.
Restart.
Lineage.
Posterity.

Insomnia: full state of agitation. High. Middle of the night.
Then, I meditate on the rest which spread.

A tip, friend, follows the thread.
Shakes the flight of ideas.
In your eye, remove the eyelash.
See this: I’m all powerful here, serene.
I fear that you can’t prevent me from behaving as a martyr.
Those who do nothing always have easy criticism.

You don’t risk to follow my action the nose stuck to your television.
I admire them jubilating on my fertile island.
I begin the ascent with passion.
Are we in a mercantile line?

Fantasy

Our eyes meet and the match begins.
Under a fine mask of humor, this is a call to love.

The technique consists of a tacit agreement;
A simple strategic and playful exercise
In order to ensure the integrity of
The assent soon signed.

Franc method speculating on a potential relaxation,
Each of us aiming at the impossible
Wondering if it’s understandable.
From sarcasm to orgasm, there is only one step to take;

But clumsiness, however, involves laziness and loneliness;
It’s only at this moment, at the ridiculous recoil,
That the fool understands that the game stops suddenly now.
In the absence of anything else, she feels a little bitterness in biting her lips.
He, disappointed, understands that he’s still a simple student in full dream.

Let us fly from hope, since we have no clear expectation,
Or leave a slight tension in suspension for one last thrill …
Ingenious survival of a blocked show in an in-between
And that ultimately never happened.

Crevasse

I’m only White on the outside,
When I throw away all the darkness
With ardor on the scammer,
Simple asylum seeker facing the examiner.
I do it gently to force forces
To shoot the albatross and build the slaughterhouse
Of their values vaguely waltzing
Since the end of childhood; beliefs.

The financial substance is based on resistance or impotence.
If you are too often satisfied by fashion,
You’re most probably ignorant.
At the edge of the crevasse, the pig.
Time passes and pass away,
I don’t know yet if I leave.

There’s no difference,
Whether I shoot or not.
There’s no more innocence.
Whether I shoot or not,
No difference, really
No difference.

What can push you
To this kind of thoughts
If not to be born stillborn?
It’s dreary and I spread the wreck
As a small pirate who makes
A brick wall away from your panic.
Your life swallows you, you’re so seedy.
Oval view, I scream in peace.

Apparently a private residence,
Is security.
Apparently an innate distrust,
Is sectarian.
I perceive everything opposite
To what they say to show us;
“Ministry of Defense”
For our security, did you get it?
What unconsciousness! What decadence!
Where is common sense?

There’s no difference,
Whether I shoot or not.
There’s no more innocence.
Whether I shoot or not,
No difference, really
No difference.

Disagreement

Filled with courage,
Small advantage;
Big swirl on the fake perch targeted;
Blurred reflection in the broken mirror.
Fill the tank to the top,
Withdrawal without sit down or lie down.

Rain of white handkerchiefs,
No more white mountains;
Boudoir’s life in balance.
No longer enough nightmares.

Diffraction in ten ways;
Said pardon of a thousand saddletree;
Self-management, self-regulation,
Confection, continuation.

No more handkerchiefs,
Rain of mountains,
No more boudoir,
Life of nightmares

And tangled dreams.
The forest is red;
No turning back,
Infrared vision;
Dry envies in melee
At the crossroads of yesterday.

Caviar, a brilliant hoax,
The squid burns its nectar tuning
His flight ordered free
By the vacuity of the master.

View of the daring mind.
Everything is small, ephemeral.
Too late, like
A horseless rider who
Strives itself without ceasing
To save a princess.

Where are the colors?
Where is the prompter?
From laughter to tears,
From cry to rage.

Feel the melancholy in the melody.
The sky is gray since noon;
The “yes” mutates into “maybe”
Before the poet’s destruction.

Golden Tower

From the top of her golden tower,
She passively protests against the Golden Order, and
At the edge of the forest, the poor are ringing the bell.
She believes to elaborate a rope, but
She only condemns them to a death without halo.
She perceives herself in their reflections sent back by a mud-water beaten with blows.

In any case, this is what she says to the ignoramuses.
It’s what she exclaims, but she doesn’t spread much energy.
From now on, she’s on her knees.
It’s heartbreaking, and she’s angry against the old fools.
In any case, this is what she explains selfishly.
It’s painful to light down the deaf who are drowning.
It’s more enviable to veil by living in a sneaky way.

Deep down, in her ivory tower, she no longer sees anything.
Did she once perceive
The monster that has made her so affluent?
She decides not to believe it in order not to fall,
And it’s her choice … Yes, is it her choice?
It’s cruel ; But what isn’t?

Her goldsmith adorns her with audacious ornaments,
And she sometimes leans so one could see her cleavage.
Maybe she can then make them take off?
She no longer unload herself toward the call of the forest;
Replace the string with a whip,
Because it’s the price to pay to isolate herself

At the top of her golden tower.