Category: Poems

Paris, no words


I deeply sorry for this city I love.

I wanted to write,  to write a lot.

I wanted to speak about people like me,

and about the cowards who took their lives.


I wanted to write about the discomfort

that one can feel now in a big city

upon hearing the minimum noise.

I wanted to speak about the West

and its ability

to generates its own enemies.

I wanted to write, to write a lot.

A river of words about all,

about people I knew, even if barely,

about people who are now gone.


I prefer to be quiet,

at least for this time,

and let the world cry its children.


In Photo “Peace for Paris” by Jean Julien


If you still don’t know who you are (a river)


If you still do not know who you are, repeat inside yourself:
There is no problem.
You are the one who has seen the mountains themselves being created
And what are you looking at right now is just the unfolding of their lives,
in the flow of the river called Self.
But the day will come when you will understand
Why this river was there.
Its flow has moved the debris a little, and in the midst of it
It donated some beautiful emotions
Helping to move the wheel of life a little.
The rest does not matter.
It does not matter whether that river was long, or large, or zigzag.
What matters for the Ocean is that the river
had returned home.



Yes I am male and I am fragile.

If I want i slit mountains                                                                                                                                                                  and I arrive on foot in Kazakhstan.

Yet behind my zest hero                                                                                                                                                              there is a needy heart.

Needy of you and of your love                                                                                                                                                    which the more I give you, the more it heightens.

Hence call me a man, call me a male                                                                                                                                             and remember that they portray us badly on TV.

We are not all assholes,                                                                                                                                                                  We make mistakes, yes, but trust me, we know how to love.

Tell me about yourself


Come here and tell me about yourself.

Show me yourself as fragile as you are

and without any fence between the two of us.

As you come to me like this and you watch me,

with those sweet hazel eyes,

I don’t even know who I am anymore.

I cannot recall those dumb promises of an ego

whish throws me images of myself like a scream

which resonates in empty hears.

The real me knows it well,

that I cannot listen to that heavy voice no more

if I don’t want to drawn in the abyss of myself.

But when you are around

I don’t need no memories nor promises

and even a name is too much to bear.

So, my love, if under this moonlight you’ll read my words,

know that we are already near,

and not even for an instant have we been far away.

Time and space are just a cosmic joke,

to force us to discover ourselves once more,

hence you do not believe them too much, but if you can come here

and laugh, laugh right here with me.

Just A Dance (!)


Will it be you filling my day with hope?

Will it be you giving me the emotion that my heart so much craves?

Inside I just feel one Godly song,

and if you wish, my love, together we’ll dance its every step.

This anger, this joy


As this Anger comes and bites me,

I just stay here and watch it.

I observe it coming up in my hands,

as it screams inside, like a crazy echo.

Yet, after a while, as everything, it goes.

It returns back to those gloom bushes which I myself ignore,

but which I feel being present, and always lurking.

What remains is for me like a sudden joy

which cares no more of scanning the world through judging lenses.

This feeling simply accepts what it is for what it is

and it doesn’t strive for what is here anymore.

Flowers of peace


Flowers of peace are within me.

Their seeds had fallen on land

arid, rocky and sloping.

Had you seen them then

you would not give them the smallest hope.

Yet they, in their pure naivety, made their way

quenching their thirst with divine water

and now unmistakably hover their silent scent.