La misère du monde entre nos mains
Je congru leurs mots,
Sur un papier la douleur,
Le poète qui parle pour eux,
Celui qui ne tranche pas, le poète libre,
Je suis celui qui écrit la douleur des autres,
La misère du monde entre nos mains.
Poète je finirais quand tout sera fini de dire.
Dans le silence de la nuit,
J’écris une mère,
Une douleur interdite,
Cacher sous l’oreiller les larmes,
Pensé à demain sera plus dure encore,
La misère du monde entre nos mains,
Poète je finirais quand tout sera fini de dire.
Longtemps j’ai écris mes mémoires,
Je sais que le monde et autre que moi,
Mais il reste aujourd’hui, cette misère,
J’écris pour lui la faim, ce texte,
Pour elle les mésaventures du demain,
La misère du monde entre nos mains,
Poète je finirais quand tout sera fini de dire.
Mes pages seront toujours remplies de lignes,
Le monde ne sait pas laisser ce message,
Ecrire pour ceux qui ne peuvent pas dire,
La souffrance tellement forte pour ne poing l’écrire,
Oui je suis ce poète sur leurs lignes,
La misère du monde entre nos mains,
Poète je finirais quand tout sera fini de dire
Je chante cet instant ces lignes, ce témoignage,
D’autres pleures sur leurs sorts incompris, trop faible,
J’écris le temps et pour moi l’expression d’une douleur,
Le regard de pauvreté tant présence à leurs yeux,
Je ne sais pas rester insensible aux silences,
La misère du monde entre nos mains,
Poète je finirais quand tout sera fini de dire.
NICOLLE Edmond le 6.02.2012
http://poemesauxtraversdutemps.blogspot.com/
Je suis ce poète caractéristique de mots,
Ils m’ont déjà enfermé dans le silence, Edmond N.
The misery of the world in our hands
I congruent their words,
A paper on pain,
The poet who speaks for them,
He who does not settle, the poet free,
I am the one who writes the pain of others,
The misery of the world in our hands.
Poet I would end when everything is finished speaking.
In the silence of the night,
I write a mother,
Pain banned
Hide under the pillow with tears,
Thought of tomorrow will be even harder,
The misery of the world in our hands,
Poet I would end when everything is finished speaking.
Long time I am writing my memoirs,
I know the world other than myself,
But it remains today, this misery,
I write to hunger, this text,
For her the misadventures of tomorrow
The misery of the world in our hands,
Poet I would end when everything is finished speaking.
My pages are always filled with lines,
The world does not know what message to leave,
Writing for those who can not say,
Suffering so strong fist to do the writing,
Yes I am the poet of their lines,
The misery of the world in our hands,
Poet I would end when everything is finished saying
I sing this moment these lines, this testimony,
Others weep for their spells misunderstood, too low,
I write time and for me an expression of pain,
The look of poverty as a presence in their eyes,
I can not remain insensitive to the silences,
The misery of the world in our hands,
Poet I would end when everything is finished speaking.
NICOLLE Edmond on 02/06/2012
http://poemesauxtraversdutemps.blogspot.com/
I am the poet of characteristic words
They've already locked in silence, Edmond N.
I congruent their words,
A paper on pain,
The poet who speaks for them,
He who does not settle, the poet free,
I am the one who writes the pain of others,
The misery of the world in our hands.
Poet I would end when everything is finished speaking.
In the silence of the night,
I write a mother,
Pain banned
Hide under the pillow with tears,
Thought of tomorrow will be even harder,
The misery of the world in our hands,
Poet I would end when everything is finished speaking.
Long time I am writing my memoirs,
I know the world other than myself,
But it remains today, this misery,
I write to hunger, this text,
For her the misadventures of tomorrow
The misery of the world in our hands,
Poet I would end when everything is finished speaking.
My pages are always filled with lines,
The world does not know what message to leave,
Writing for those who can not say,
Suffering so strong fist to do the writing,
Yes I am the poet of their lines,
The misery of the world in our hands,
Poet I would end when everything is finished saying
I sing this moment these lines, this testimony,
Others weep for their spells misunderstood, too low,
I write time and for me an expression of pain,
The look of poverty as a presence in their eyes,
I can not remain insensitive to the silences,
The misery of the world in our hands,
Poet I would end when everything is finished speaking.
NICOLLE Edmond on 02/06/2012
http://poemesauxtraversdutemps.blogspot.com/
I am the poet of characteristic words
They've already locked in silence, Edmond N.
La misère du monde entre nos mains
Je congru leurs mots,
Sur un papier la douleur,
Le poète qui parle pour eux,
Celui qui ne tranche pas, le poète libre,
Je suis celui qui écrit la douleur des autres,
La misère du monde entre nos mains.
Poète je finirais quand tout sera fini de dire.
Dans le silence de la nuit,
J’écris une mère,
Une douleur interdite,
Cacher sous l’oreiller les larmes,
Pensé à demain sera plus dure encore,
La misère du monde entre nos mains,
Poète je finirais quand tout sera fini de dire.
Longtemps j’ai écris mes mémoires,
Je sais que le monde et autre que moi,
Mais il reste aujourd’hui, cette misère,
J’écris pour lui la faim, ce texte,
Pour elle les mésaventures du demain,
La misère du monde entre nos mains,
Poète je finirais quand tout sera fini de dire.
Mes pages seront toujours remplies de lignes,
Le monde ne sait pas laisser ce message,
Ecrire pour ceux qui ne peuvent pas dire,
La souffrance tellement forte pour ne poing l’écrire,
Oui je suis ce poète sur leurs lignes,
La misère du monde entre nos mains,
Poète je finirais quand tout sera fini de dire
Je chante cet instant ces lignes, ce témoignage,
D’autres pleures sur leurs sorts incompris, trop faible,
J’écris le temps et pour moi l’expression d’une douleur,
Le regard de pauvreté tant présence à leurs yeux,
Je ne sais pas rester insensible aux silences,
La misère du monde entre nos mains,
Poète je finirais quand tout sera fini de dire.
NICOLLE Edmond le 6.02.2012
http://poemesauxtraversdutemps.blogspot.com/
Je suis ce poète caractéristique de mots,
Ils m’ont déjà enfermé dans le silence, Edmond N.
The misery of the world in our hands
I congruent their words,
A paper on pain,
The poet who speaks for them,
He who does not settle, the poet free,
I am the one who writes the pain of others,
The misery of the world in our hands.
Poet I would end when everything is finished speaking.
In the silence of the night,
I write a mother,
Pain banned
Hide under the pillow with tears,
Thought of tomorrow will be even harder,
The misery of the world in our hands,
Poet I would end when everything is finished speaking.
Long time I am writing my memoirs,
I know the world other than myself,
But it remains today, this misery,
I write to hunger, this text,
For her the misadventures of tomorrow
The misery of the world in our hands,
Poet I would end when everything is finished speaking.
My pages are always filled with lines,
The world does not know what message to leave,
Writing for those who can not say,
Suffering so strong fist to do the writing,
Yes I am the poet of their lines,
The misery of the world in our hands,
Poet I would end when everything is finished saying
I sing this moment these lines, this testimony,
Others weep for their spells misunderstood, too low,
I write time and for me an expression of pain,
The look of poverty as a presence in their eyes,
I can not remain insensitive to the silences,
The misery of the world in our hands,
Poet I would end when everything is finished speaking.
NICOLLE Edmond on 02/06/2012
http://poemesauxtraversdutemps.blogspot.com/
I am the poet of characteristic words
They've already locked in silence, Edmond N.
I congruent their words,
A paper on pain,
The poet who speaks for them,
He who does not settle, the poet free,
I am the one who writes the pain of others,
The misery of the world in our hands.
Poet I would end when everything is finished speaking.
In the silence of the night,
I write a mother,
Pain banned
Hide under the pillow with tears,
Thought of tomorrow will be even harder,
The misery of the world in our hands,
Poet I would end when everything is finished speaking.
Long time I am writing my memoirs,
I know the world other than myself,
But it remains today, this misery,
I write to hunger, this text,
For her the misadventures of tomorrow
The misery of the world in our hands,
Poet I would end when everything is finished speaking.
My pages are always filled with lines,
The world does not know what message to leave,
Writing for those who can not say,
Suffering so strong fist to do the writing,
Yes I am the poet of their lines,
The misery of the world in our hands,
Poet I would end when everything is finished saying
I sing this moment these lines, this testimony,
Others weep for their spells misunderstood, too low,
I write time and for me an expression of pain,
The look of poverty as a presence in their eyes,
I can not remain insensitive to the silences,
The misery of the world in our hands,
Poet I would end when everything is finished speaking.
NICOLLE Edmond on 02/06/2012
http://poemesauxtraversdutemps.blogspot.com/
I am the poet of characteristic words
They've already locked in silence, Edmond N.
+villers+les+pots+21+LA+GARE+dessin+r%C3%A9alis%C3%A9+le+05.02.2012+NICOLLE+Edmond.jpg)
