(Dessin Edmond NICOLLE)
J’ai
dessiné ton corps dans mon âme
Tu n’es pas devenu femme,
Les hommes ont joué avec ton corps,
Tu n’es pas née encore à vivre,
Ils t’ont écrasé comme une débauche,
Les lendemains pour pleurer sur ta couche.
Tu n’as plus la vigueur de répondre,
Tu aimes jouer à l’amour,
Un coin de solitude dans des bras,
Le cœur fatigué de plonger dans mes méandres,
Tu n’as plus quarante ans aujourd’hui.
J’ai dessiné ton corps dans mon âme,
Tu es resté cette fille que j’ai connue,
Délibérer de sens mental à la rue des hommes,
Un jour tu connaîtras la douleur immature,
Tu coucheras encore sur la peine des hommes.
Tu viens et tu repars dans ton silence,
Un mot et tu pleures au bout du fil,
Tu cherches l’ombre à tes bras pour une nuit,
Oublier un instant le jour qui te brûle à l’amour,
L’âge qui te trompe comme une fillette oubliée.
Un jour, je descendrais le rideau,
Tu pleureras des larmes, qu’il sera trop tard,
Dans le silence de ma tombe, tu ne viendras pas,
Un ami comme celui de temps d’homme passé,
Il sera trop tard pour me dire tes mots d’une femme
née.
NICOLLE Edmond le 12.09.2013
Créateur de poésies depuis 1973
I drew your body in my soul
You do not become a woman,
The men played with your body,
You were not born to live again,
They crushed you like a riot,
The aftermath to cry on your bed.
You do not have the strength to respond
You like playing love
A corner of solitude in arms,
The tired heart to dive into my meandering
You do not have forty years now.
I drew your body in my soul,
You've been that girl I knew,
Deliberate mental sense of the street men
One day you will know the pain immature,
You still lie on the sentence of men.
You come and you'll be leaving in your silence
One word and you cry on the phone,
Looking to shade your arms for one night,
Forget for a moment the day that you burn with love,
The age you are mistaken as a girl forgotten.
One day I go down the curtain
You weep tears, it is too late,
In the silence of my tomb, you will not come,
A friend like that time spent man
It will be too late to say your words of a woman born.
NICOLLE Edmond 12.09.2013
Creator of poetry since 1973
http://poemesauxtraversdutemps.blogspot.fr/
You do not become a woman,
The men played with your body,
You were not born to live again,
They crushed you like a riot,
The aftermath to cry on your bed.
You do not have the strength to respond
You like playing love
A corner of solitude in arms,
The tired heart to dive into my meandering
You do not have forty years now.
I drew your body in my soul,
You've been that girl I knew,
Deliberate mental sense of the street men
One day you will know the pain immature,
You still lie on the sentence of men.
You come and you'll be leaving in your silence
One word and you cry on the phone,
Looking to shade your arms for one night,
Forget for a moment the day that you burn with love,
The age you are mistaken as a girl forgotten.
One day I go down the curtain
You weep tears, it is too late,
In the silence of my tomb, you will not come,
A friend like that time spent man
It will be too late to say your words of a woman born.
NICOLLE Edmond 12.09.2013
Creator of poetry since 1973
http://poemesauxtraversdutemps.blogspot.fr/
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