When Only Death Speaks

(A poem dedicated to those who lost their land)

I feel pity for the thief
who steal the voices
and wraps them in color paper
to be sold as pretty words

I feel pity for the thief
taking inhabited homes
together with the sky and clouds above,
together with the sand and the unpronounceable rivers, lakes, deserts and mountains,
sealing them under a brand new name

I feel pity for the thief
for he does not know
He has taken the body, the sound, the shape, the land, the speech, the words, the sky, the light, the roads
he has taken my unknown home,

yet, I feel pity for the thief
because he has taken everything
except my soul

MEMOIRES

Les mémoires / un poison qui nage dans l'eau limpide / pas encore empoisonné par la colère...

CHINA DREAM