Spatior

-
Une fois un prof m'a demandé si c'était une réécriture de l'Albatros. Perso c'est un papillon qui parle Latin et qui ne rencontre pas d'humains, ni de bateau. Au lectorat de juger?
Un petit papillon expose ses couleurs.
Parvenu sur sa feuille, il somnole dans l’ombre.
Hélas, un vent l’emporte. Anxieux dans les décombres,
Il se hisse avec peine, ignorant sa douleur.

Avec réticence, le papillon s’avance.
Guettant ses alentours, il pense décoller.
Malheur ! Son aile révèle une fente élancée.
Il tombe, dépité, et perd donc sa balance.

Que reste-t-il alors, sans toute sa vitesse ?
Ne plus jamais voler, quelle pure détresse !
Spatior Le Papillon, vaincu, se promena.

Marchant et observant, il découvrit la terre,
Et sentit le parfum de la boue et du fer.

Puis, Spatior s’écria : « Liber sum! », et trotta.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Scream of consciousness

-
Fuck you for all the things you ever made me think. Fuck you for thinking I wanted to think that I caved in,  Fuck you for not trying.  For not waiting, and for lying.  For cheating, and for breathing.  For leaving,  And for being.  I wish you’d just give up trying to do what you do best.  You test me,  And bend me, So far that no one can mend me.  You play the same game played for decades But somehow you make me want to make myself stay. Fuck you for thinking you’ve got control, That’s the one thing to me that you owe.  Fuck you for trying to break me, Take me, For pretending to want to save me.  Fuck you for staring when you don’t care and, Fuck you for trying to rid me of my secrets So you can keep them. Fuck you for trying to take everything that I have Because you know that it’s that bad,  And that I’d tell you,  Because I left you because in some ways you left me too. Are you listening? Attraction to
Read more

The walls are thin in DRA

-
My first year at university was a struggle to say the least; I dragged six suitcases, a guitar, a bunch of useless adapters, and a ukulele across an ocean. I was allocated to a hall of residence "DRA", the big one outside of town. The soulless one, devoid of heart. It was also quite expensive, a reminder that weighed on me now that I had been attributed the fear-inducing "International Student" status despite being a UK citizen. My punishment for being forced abroad, for being exposed to cultures, plural. It would be an understatement though, to say I was excited. It's university. My first roommate seemed really sweet, and she invited me to a party. Maybe we could innocently tease the boys in our flat, complain about their lack of cleanliness, organise flat dinners, become a real girls group. A feminist trio, because we were three you see. Though I learned soon enough that we were one, me, and they were two. I missed the party I had been invited to, a
Read more

SINE QUA NON

-
      It was cold in England, and it was a Wednesday. It was December, and it was 2012. The road to Wimbledon Village had been entirely blocked off by the snow. London, in its entirety, was frozen and disconnected. No one would be visiting tonight, it seemed. Outside, the rain poured down. Seven thirty in the afternoon. Her cracked fingers were running across the broken wood of the walls. The red paint that had once masked the deterioration already present in the house long before it’s renovation was peeling off at the slightest touch. The furthest window at the end of the east wing hallway had been stripped of its glass by the storm last winter. Occasionally, the breeze would whip back her uncombed hair and her face could be seen, which was rare. It was dark now; although the sun would do her face no justice. She was beautiful, but in a distraught, tormented kind of way. Her eyes had been perpetually filled with sorrow as if they were small teardrops in glass cups of psychologic
Read more