Quand surgit la pâleur du futur à éteindre12 janvier 2022
Courtesy Rodrigo Luff
Nous n’irons plus aux bois tels des enfants légers
Les yeux remplis de rêves et de tendres désirs
Nous n’aurons plus aux doigts cette musique ailée
L’oreille sonnera la trêve de ces fantasques plaisirs
Relevons les éclats de nos cœurs emmêlés
Quand s’écoule lente la sève en un bel élixir
Témoin de nos ébats scellant grandes échappées
Le devoir veut qu’on crève en un dernier soupir
Compterons-nous les secrets des intrépides soldats
Raidis par la douleur de patrie à étreindre?
Des drapeaux à hisser dans un froid de verglas
Quand surgit la pâleur du futur à éteindre
Lecture du poème:
Corneille - Parce qu'on vient de loin
Summarised translation of the Alexandrin French poem into English
When the pallor of the future to be extinguished arises January 12, 2022
Courtesy Rodrigo Luff
We will no longer go to the woods like light children
Eyes filled with dreams and tender desires
We will no longer have this winged music at the tips of our fingers
The ear will sound the end of these fantastic pleasures
Let’s lift up the shards of our tangled hearts
When the sap slowly flows into a beautiful elixir
Witness of our frolics sealing great escapes
Duty wants us to die in a last sigh
Will we count the secrets of intrepid soldiers
Stiffened by the pain of fatherland to embrace
Flags to be hoisted in a freezing cold
When the pallor of the future to be extinguished arises
Reading of the poem:
A figure so slight
a toe out of dainty shoes
Fleeting outlines blurred
A dash of sulphur
sinuous lines on her brow
a frontier defined
Exploring unknown
tuning into the channel
seizing vast landscapes
Limits extended
choice to heed fluttering ribs
Pinnacle of life
Throbbing subsiding
contours of the world fading
move into nothing
On the edge of death
the Queen handed back the heart
setting boundary
Reading of the poem:
Nancy ajram Hassa bik New نانسي عجرم حاسة بيك with english lyrics
Only the question
mattered more than the answer
Twined cause and effect
Common inquiry
A probe into grey matter
Symptom of the quest
Pillars of queries
Symbols of the need to know
A trace of lives lived
Myriads of half-truths
Sign of the times etched in blood
Reality blurred
Picking up the clues
Omen of a time gone by
Skies high in bosom
She survived inquests
Her mind a token of light
A flag flying high
Reading of the poem:
Strings of a Bard (acoustic) - Estas Tonne (2021)
Written in the context of Ronovan writes weekly haiku challenge using the words question and sign or their synonyms. More on the rules and other poets’ contribution here https://ronovanwrites.com/2021/08/23/ronovan-writes-weekly-haiku-poetry-prompt-challenge-372-question-and-sign/
When she had first started using the shamanic gift on a large scale to summon rains she had known that this would happen according to the Ancient magic rules. These dictated that whatever the outcome in the immediate physical it would be replicated within one year or up to eighteen months from the time the ceremony was carried out thereby molding consciousness at that time. This was known as the frontal projection of the consciousness stream and required the shaman to separate from his/her physical self and stay astral during the intended time. Conversely, in a backward timeloop, one had to make the astral body go three years before the present time to carry out a shamanic ceremony that would affect the present.
Initially, she was meant to migrate from her current city to a special place called Alice Springs. She had pondered about it when the city had come out as a result of her dowsing ceremony as she did not know what this meant. It was then that she realized that there existed an Alice Springs and it was in Australia. By coincidence her own helper was dreaming of going to Australia but rather to Sydney than anywhere else. She thought that consciousness combined with her spells should take her to Australia then in astral form if not in the flesh.
At first, she realized that it was the fires of the phoenix that had been let out in the combined consciousness and to combat the ensuing drought-like state it was necessary to summon the rains. Her location was quite far from the regions affected but she knew that consciousness could carry through the shamanic trance joined with the witches’ spell if she released them within the right level of consciousness and at the right moment for them to manifest.
She knew that GAIA’s program was to regenerate herself by reducing what she considered weeds spread amongst her beautiful flowers. As a good gardener knows, if a beautiful patch of the garden is contaminated by weeds or by parasitic flowers, it is necessary to sacrifice patches of those flowers to save the whole garden. As a result GAIA had decided to wipe out many of what she considered weeds and that were in effect human beings. She did not consider them as more important than others because humans had long lost their connection to GAIA. She decided to do this in the region that lent itself the most to this and entire cities in Australia had suffered raging fires. The shamanic trance and combined witches’ spell helped with bringing some relief with the rains to the lands although it was insufficient as not enough levels of consciousness were drawn in by the worded intention. In short, the magic was diluted…
She wove conscientiously the points keeping in mind most of the time the greatest good of all. She knew that some of what she wove would not be witnessed in her time but in eons to come. Other parts of what she wove were for immediate results or results on the short or medium term. In the beginning it had been disappointing that the desires she had did not have an immediate resolution but she had learnt to accept this. She looked upon her task as a humanitarian one as she was weaving a better consciousness. She wondered how many out there were like her weaving a better series of connections into the collective consciousness.
Sometimes, her old shadows returned and she would need to stop the weaving during those days. That could mean no weaving for several days in a row. She always wondered whether her consciousness would still be connected so closely with the collective consciousness to affect it in a significant way or if these days of absence would have weakened the contact. Every time she had such doubts they were dispelled immediately when she returned to weave for the greatest good of all and saw the almost immediate results. She wondered how she could cope with her shadow selves to bring them out to the light and no longer have to sit in between all the time. This would allow her to keep weaving every day instead of having to make a pause.
One day she caught herself talking to one of her shadow selves that had strayed into the room. It was no longer lurking behind her as they always tended to do when they manifested, watching her, thinking she was unaware of their presence or pretending they thought that. She normally would only observe them and try to fill them with light but they would take cover, literally and refuse to be dissolved most of the time although she had been able to lighten a couple of them. Today however, she decided to talk to the one who had unwittingly strayed into the room.
Why do you need to provoke the advent of darkness, she said
Because that is what we are made of, she answered
But you are me and if you are me, you cannot be made of darkness for I am light
There is no light without darkness so therefore if you are light, we have to be darkness
Will you always exist? Is there no end to some of you?
Who knows? You have taken such liberty with the self that there is so much light. We have kept some to ourselves. It is our bubbles of liberty where we choose to express the colours grey and black. Are they not colours too? Why refuse them? Surely as an artist you should know that a palette must be complete? How would you paint the night without us? Or the ravens or the dark clouds if not for those colours?
She thought to herself that she must be right. She should perhaps leave them these bubbles of liberty.
It was a bitter night. The wind was howling outside and she recalled how it had tugged at her hair and the umbrella almost yanking it out of her gloved hands. She had been glad to have gloves on as it was biting cold outside. Her cheeks seared with the acid bite of the cold. The elements raging outside were no match, however, for the cold that was biting into her heart as the days went by without him. She wondered if he was now gone forever or if he would come back like he had done after a period of absence around a year ago.
She stretched on the sofa where she had been lying down watching the screen without actually taking in what was going on in the Television set just across the room. She looked at the reed in the canal outside her room and could see it bend wildly this way and that as the wind tore away at its roots attempting to uproot the reed. The wind was, however, no match to the resilient reed which withstood the tear of the wind and just bent gracefully one way or the other depending on the twists and turns of the wind.
She felt she should be more like the reed and adapt to the situations as they arose. She should get used to the times when he disappeared however much they hurt. He was anyway like a ghost in her life so she should not expect him to have a normal pattern of behavior. He was gone for longer than the other time but it did not mean that he would not be back again. She felt ice fill her heart as the veracity of his absence sunk into her mind. There was no sunshine when he was not around. Indeed she thought, there was no sunshine without him….
