J’ai peur de fermer l’œil et de le rouvrir
De peur qu’à mon réveil je ne sois plus moi-même.
J’ai peur que mon sommeil soit l’appel au dévil,
Qu’il annonce en mon corps le festin des charognes.

 Quel empire a le mort sur sa vie épuisée
Alors qu’il voit son corps mais n’en a pas l’usage ?
Que peut l’encre impalpable sur l’encre profonde
Alors qu’elle s’envole et ne tient au support ?

 Mais, que disent ces fous qui pensent me connaître ?
Je voudrais interrompre le torrent aveugle
Et faire qu’enfin cesse ce satané sonnet !
Ah, ils achèvent plus encore ma vie !

 Ils entrent en mon intime, exilent mes secrets,
Nul recoin de mon antre n’échappe à leurs mains.
Ils arrachent mes biens et ils les portent au jour
Sans voir que même mort j’aime encore en secret.

 J’ai peur de ce sommeil où les écrans s’animent
Et présentent en première mes hauts et mes revers.
Je voudrais même encore disposer de moi-même,
Mais ma poigne d’antan ne tient plus que poussière…

W.P

— Oser la révérence au sommet de sa gloire,

Baisser le couvre-chef au milieu de ces chauves,

Humilité suprême, honneur consolidé… —

« À quoi bon cantonner ma vigueur à ce faux

Leitmotiv qui n’est plus que vive illusion ?

Pauvres, faibles sont ceux qui refusent d’admettre

Que le jour a changé de même que les cœurs !

Ce que je fis hier garantit mon étoile,

Cependant j’entends là venir avec le vent

Le soupir si puissant, la capitulation… »

—  Déjà faible, il allait refermer le coffret

Sur ses espoirs, ses doutes, sur ses souvenirs.

Il s’en allait brûler à jamais la recette

Qui tant de fois jadis avait fait la lumière… —

« Tenez donc, mangez, flammes intarissables,

Le fruit de mon labeur, joyau de ma jeunesse.

Je ne suis plus l’enfant qui rêvait d’idéal,

J’ai bu le sang du monde et ma vue a changé.

Mangez ce qui jadis aurait fait mon bonheur

Et qui devant ce jour n’est plus d’aucun secours… »

 — Oser jeter son cœur au brasier de l’oubli

Qu’il consume tout ce qui faisait l’entité

Et partir de nouveau à l’assaut des années

N’ayant pour seuls recours qu’une plume nouvelle,

Une encre immaculée, des pages virginales… —

« Puisque vie et mouvement sont de si vieux amis,

Je serai plus léger que plume d’ilalou,

Délivrerai ma barque du poids du passé

Pour suivre sagement le courant du Léthé… »

W.P

On a night when the sky was tinted like an ocean of blood,

Dozens, hundreds from the child to eldest

Were slaughtered for the sake of a king believed God.

“Thou art King and Law and God”

They shouted worshiping the man never God

While trampling to death the Lord’s sons and daughters

Wishing for liberty and respect of their souls.

And a man gave a voice to the people’s wishes

Unheard by their Highness like the wind’s whispers.

And a man gave a soul to the people’s passion

When lying in verses the story of the Nation.

He found the best weapon in the use of poetry,

Emphasized the murmur claiming equality,

Taught us that sword and horse are no more powerful

When the hopes of hundreds gather as if one soul.

Through the words raised the sound of beings exhausted

As their fate not by God but humans was sorted.

So he wrote all these words giving shape to the fire

Of a people who for ages to better aspired,

He used silence and poetry – than sword more powerful

Because unless the last not the flesh they wounded,

But they gave victory by fighting in the minds…

W.P

This poem was inspired by The Masque of Anarchy, written by Percy Bysshe Shelly about the Peterloo Massacre which happened in 1819 in the city of Manchester. I discovered this text during the brilliant and amazing performance of Maxine Peake during this year's edition of the Manchester International Festival (see website). She brought on stage a powerful poem and through her voice raised the voices of many, of the hundreds of Mancunians who have been killed during this massacre "for the sake of a king believed God"...

This poem is not from me, but I discovered it at the UK Black Pride today, written on the back of a t-shirt (that I bought, or could I not?). I found it so powerful and meaningful, I felt like I must share it here to spread the word and make it live as it deserves...

W.P

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise. 

Maya Angelou

The ocean is green for any lonely soul
Who imagines the world according to the thought
Transmitted through eras by the wind that lies.

I am a blasted tree, red in soul, blue in mind,
And the bolt of heaven has entered my soul,
And the bolt of heaven has destroyed my mind.

My knowledge is so damned that a cloud will cry
When I look at the sky and yell the hardest things
With my rocking stomach and my deep-injured voice.

The genius is a doll for the three Ancestors
Whose role is to cut any string when it hurts,
But their choice is to keep the smile turning to tear.

Victor Faust is my name and I’m swearing to Thee
Because you made the most unfortunate human,
Because you gave the eye and the way to be blind.

W.P