Letter Without Tittle
(mouloudi mustapha)
What can we await erom those which others repulse.
The paradise? Undoubtedly not within if we see
These embers that all and sundry poke.
The hell? No doubt above if we take the pain to re-examine the history and the origins of wars.
Lastly, those which touch at the bottom always keep an advantage on those which do not know anything about the bottom? This bottom known is well made up with innocent men, women and children the ones as the others which aspire even this known as bottom a little peace and more dins of the bombs as those of the words which do not have any more their place at the 21st century.
Poem Without title :
Detach the fingers from the sad hand
too much Bud will be tomorrow
nothing to say?
Well, I know, I spoke
I do have not yet all unpack
Others soon will suffer.
You speak about progress
Damned would be this by private contract.
You speak about humanity
Impossible this freedom.
To speak to You about a world of peaces
What do you made by dignity.
On ashes of the right
is made destroy the roofs.
On those of safety
prepares the atrocities.
World made of noise and hatred
I am to you with such an amount of sorrow.
Anywhere the madness,
That of cry, that cries
No responsible did not understand
That he envoys us to troubles.
Everywhere, greatest is fire
the dream of the peace is old
All re-appears, oh my god
the future will be odious.
Here, remorse and anguishes
Over there dig the abyss
Mosques and parishes
Nothing is sublime any more.
Here lure on the heart
There, are stupid battles
They like to be made fear
brothers, they cut the links.
Here for to be here
All goes over there
Over there also that demise.
Here and fallen well low
Over there still Loses the good steps.
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- It Spoke And Spoke........
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- Who's World Is It Anyway
- The Divine Comedy
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