The smuggler promised paradise
Binta’s land has become a desert,
And nothing grew despite her prayers.
Her little Ahmed’s belly: a hollow cave,
Water and bread, the things they crave.
Yusuf was born on a gold mine,
But he has never seen one shine.
M23 instead of 18K,
He quickly realized he could not stay.
Doussou’s secret garden was wounded at three;
It would be the same for her baby, Akissi.
Her mother-in-law, the future executioner—
They had to run away, very far from her.
Abir had big dreams for his future;
He fantasized about France and its culture.
From his lost village, where there was nothing,
He would leave and see what the journey could bring.
From their country to Libya,
They knew only suffering and drama.
Almost at the end of the trip,
Binta, Yusuf, Doussou, and Abir met on the ship.
Together, they were cold; they cried.
In the sea where we swim, they now lie.
They made the corals their sanctuary,
Among others, with Ahmed and Akissi.
Haters gonna hate
In short, Luc, you’re right:
“No one loves everyone”.
Just, “Cash city, only beautiful at night”
could easily be the city of anyone.
What we think of others isn’t always rosy;
Some even wield a forked tongue as an art.
But not pleasing everyone is no tragedy,
As long as we’re free to bloom just as we are.
What seems minor can spiral, turn surreal,
When the physical becomes digital.
And who can ignore the sting, the ordeal,
When badmouthing goes viral?
If only cyberbullies were taken off the list
And keyboard warriors dared to show their face
Maybe I’d have opened an account on X
Before Elon rebranded this space.
But welcome back to reality :
There’s always someone to kill your vibe.
So release your inner dragon, get your kicks,
Live, smile and let their idiocy slide!
Where is my mind
Six o’clock ring-ring!
Fuck me! Two hours since I stopped sleeping.
My night was such a nightmare
My mind was lost I don’t know where…
Dreamed about my panties wish were too tight
But I was eating an elephant bite by bite.
Suddenly I was sculpting vases in a kibbutz,
Under a rain of six-eyed pink cuscus.
It’s crazy how news get engraved in the brain
And how you reject them to not become insane.
I was fling in a hearse all the way to the moon,
When I woke up and my thoughts started to croon.
I jumped from “will the blue dress fit with my new ring?”
To “Is death really the end of everything?”
In between: counting in a loop up to ten,
to-do lists, or praying I never become a Karen.
The grey matter is like a hamster in a wheel
That’s life, I guess that’s the deal.
However I must admit I have a wish :
If only I had sometimes an off switch!
Like a message in a bottle
You call me Scyphozoa,
but my name is Rabbia.
I am the guardian of the abyss,
the ambassador of marine beauties.
This is in the language of your species
to the dumps among you who think only with your wallet,
the response of ecosystems in the deep sea
to your awful metal mining projects.
You want to come and destroy our home
to take like looters what you need
for your electric cars and your phones
and to give a future to your babies.
Obsessed with consumption and growth,
and born with an ego to feed,
you consider all is your own
and about us you are far from being worried.
From our so precious territories
that we want to keep unknown,
we say repair first the earth where you live
or go fuck yourself but leave us alone.
Will you say hello to the dark side?
Strange I’ve seen that face before
The face that took millions of lives and more
Thought we bid goodbye last century
But here you are again, as grim and ugly
Naive was I, thinking you had fled
The worm, in truth, lay coiled within the apple’s bed
The opportunity being here to hog the show
You’re winking at many as your deeds grow
Lucky are you, devious serpent
Today, your day, more than emergent
Polarized world, identity retreats, fake news – your domain
Your nauseous ideas find fertile terrain
I hope each gazing in the glassy mirror
Realizing your role in crimes, wars, and sorrow
Will refuse, feeling horror
To embrace the darkness tomorrow
Princess Kong
I’m Princess Kong and not Jane.
A girl like any other I claim.
Like many of us, I have a dream,
A dream where kings of the jungle are queens.
In this realm thoughtfully crafted as a team,
Patriarchy is done and forever out of the game.
From north to south, girls write and read,
Empowered by their might, they script their own stage.
Their bodies theirs, loved no matter their shape,
Never beaten again, free to be exposed without rape.
A haven for a baby soon to appear,
Only if it’s their choice, it’s now clear.
Thank’s to Friedan, Rasome-Kuti, Moyano, Veil
And all those strong women who blazed the trail.
With kind and respectful men on their side,
They have been a beacon in the night.
To see darkness turn to light and my dream come true,
We must persist in the struggle and put on our shoes.
To change in the deep forest all the scared toads,
Be ready to kiss and let’s hit the road!
You can't fight the feeling
Hi there, I’m Paul by name. You see me at seven, when my world wasn’t quite the same. Few friends in school, a code austere, a place where I couldn’t be completely sincere.
I chatted with Emma and Pearl in the hall, while Jack, Jamie, and Liam kicked the ball. « Little girl, » they’d mock and jest, for I preferred dancing to “Bennies & the Jets”.
Amidst kin, my cousins Robin and Billy. They teased me often, their humor silly. « Different » they’d claim, naming me Polly. Yet acceptance was what I yearned to see.
Then came Joan, my neighbor whom I loved. No romance no kiss, that was obvious. But as a friend, a sister in my play, who made my loneliness fade away.
Recollections echo of Uncle Tom’s voice, uttering words that didn’t rejoice. Claiming I’d fail to meet their clan, unless I became a real man.
Grateful to my mother, love profound. Her embrace, a comfort that I found. More than dolls, she gave a fresh start: respect, hope, a sense of my own part.
She wished not to change who I am, urging me to follow my own jam, Guiding me to make my own life’s choice and to face taunts with assumed poise.
Now I stand, proud and free, thanks to her love and thanks to Barbie!They helped me to be what I’ve become, grateful for being true, for being some.
Vase au bouquet : trend 2022
Cet ex-agent du KGB
Gouverne une partie du monde,
A reçu l’Ordre de l’Amitié
Mais empoisonne sans honte.
Son entourage est corrompu
Et ses opposants écrasés,
Il ne sera jamais déchu;
Il s’en est bien assuré.
A la tête du Kremlin
Et avec l’aide d’un groupe de sauvages
Il envahit ses voisins
Et peint la mort dans un paysage.
Sous mandat d’arrêt de la CPI
Il continue à nous livrer du GNL
Et nous nargue depuis Abu Dhabi….
Il doit en bander jusqu’au ciel!
Ravi de nous voir démunis
Et profitant du conflit en Orient,
Il veut nous mettre au pied du lit,
Peu importe les litres de sang.
Du dégoût qu’il m’inspire
A jailli ce travail :
Un vase empreint de satire
Et ce bouquet sorti de mes entrailles.
You are beautiful
He said, “You eat too much”. She whispered, “Suck in your belly”. How often they made me blush because I was born just a foodie.
“Elephant”, “fat potato”, “chubby” they laughed on the playground. You’re so mean and goofy, I was thinking without a sound.
“Your ass looks like jelly” said the one I thought was a crush. As a result, I felt guilty every time I started to munch.
Reading Vogue, Elle and Vanity Fair was the straw that breaks the camel’s back. But I decided not to care; now I have made peace with my past.
My body is my treasure; my insecurities I have surpassed. Regardless of any sources of pressure, I sing “It’s all about that bass”.
Pom Pom Cow
We’re not standing on geometric shapes
It’s the stylization of our ancestors’ faces on our base.
On our back is painted the portrait of Mother Earth,
The wonderful origin of every birth.
We’re a cheerleader waving pom-poms,
and a holy cow styled with buns.
Together we constitute a totem,
We are you, and we are them.
If we could talk, we would scream this slogan:
“Handle all forms of life as precious as your organs!”
We smile but we think “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
Let’s not forget that you were not the first.
After your passage, others will follow,
Make sure their new land won’t be a barrow”.
I feel love
COVID was growing weary
and they reopened borders
So I went in residency
At Guldagergaard ceramic center
Me, a tender heart
Them, people I didn’t know.
Us, united by art
During January 22 and its first snows
Coming from different lands
And having our own characters
But all creating with our hands
In clay samples, sculptures or jars.
Ceramic can be cruel at times,
Firing mishap and byebye my on-site production
But from that experience I only keep one thing in mind:
Ceramic creates human connection.
I didn't shoot no deputy
Au volant de ma voiture, en pleine rêverie :
Dix heures d’avion, deux heures de train, à moi le paradis.
Soudain, deux motards surgissent derrière moi ;
Gyrophares bleus : ils m’arrêtent et aboient.
En deux secondes me voilà à genoux.
Et pif paf pouf ! se perdent des coups.
Allongé à terre, je ne veux pas suffoquer.
Je me relève, souris bêtement et tente de me calmer.
Adieux les cocktails et la mer.
À la place, les barreaux d’une cellule.
Le paradis rêvé se transforme en enfer.
Au lieu de Kwamé, j’aurais dû m’appeler Jules.
