"Come...

As an empty secret drawer that waits there

To meet my giving hands,

As a walk in the endless desert and heartache

That turns into soothing smiles, 

As a slow, early summer morning when purples light up

The quiet of my room, a space with no boundaries.

Come, of lilac scent my resilience and strength,

Be the only witness that will not lie and will never

Envy the subtle impetus, the mystery and challenge

Of the orchid fire and ice, be the only voice that can bear

Mine, that can understand and stand next to brightness

And carry a little bit of that weight when the time comes

To drop the corpses and the scapegoating weaknesses

Of paper dolls and soldiers that only stood for the illusion.

Come, not as one of those dummies in the insipid country,

That you wouldn’t call men, but as a solid friend that stands

Within and beyond my needs. There is no meaning in being

Needless. Come." 

The message leaves my heart and my fingertips

I am the plant that stretches its branches grasping for light

I am the weaver that sits up all night

To weave what cynicism and brutality unravel all day

The warmth in me is the earth’s secret river

The subterranean, the real, the treasure that you want

To hide.

But yesterday, my resilient call

My fight, my wings, my beating hope

Were once again stopped, asphyxiated and torn

The way things really are these days:

No essence, no clarity, no word to word sincerity

But a slightly muddy feeling, a lackadaisical drizzle

Underneath the toxic clouds. 

I wondered why, what kept me looking

For anything really human and humane.

 And later, as the sun was reaching 

The middle of my sky, a foreordained sabotage 

of bland clouds and souls, of the intrinsically united

skyscape and humanland that has been making my eyes weep

for endless years, covered all hope.

As always ineludible.

But evidence needed to be hushed

To the dictatorship of cameras and positive gestapos.

And from my mouth, the words of self-denial

Were uttered: « ça-va-ça-vas » of toxic “Belgianities”

That kill all intent, all life

Were produced: today’s induced suicide

A non-event in the robotic days!

And gloom reigned again, skies and screens

Cobblestones and puddles reunited

And the strength of the grey-and-weak

fell on us. Again.