Rupture
English Version
It’s over.
My poems came true,
Happiness will no longer return.
I made her suffer for my impatience,
In my room there will always be your absence.
And it’s my fault,
Because I know this time an apology won’t be enoug.
We promised each other a happy marriage,
But I was late for my flight to Paris.
Her poems were carved in gold,
Mine in the rain became colorles.
You were more valuable than a casino prize,
And I let you go because of my murderous fucking hear.
We won’t be driving anymore,
Because there’s nothing left to build.
Why don’t you hold my hand in the woods anymore?
Because between our fingers our last touch disappeared.
I travel alone, like a lost planet,
I’ve become that fallen man.
Will I be able to survive the storm?
No, but I will be reborn from this comet.
I wanted to write, travel and drink coffee,
But you cried, sobbed and shouted “I have enough!”
Intertwined Fingers, my most beautiful poem,
Because with that one you let me, kiss your neck.
You were my watchdog, you were my salvation,
But I made you my demon, you’re my curse.
Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité, you dictated with intonation,
Art, comprehension, love, you will always be my revolution.
“You’re not there” I claimed you without right,
And in that moment I lose you,
I lose the right to sleep on your chest.
We were fluent in three languages, you inspired me to write Poetry,
Poetry was our profession, from your poems I was nourished.
I’m not enough for you, I thought with my insecurities,
And even though you always stopped my suffering, we can’t build any more cities.
I’m no longer able to listen to the birds,
Could it be that I killed them with my shots?
We were ineffable at 10am on Sunday,
But now even in my dreams I can’t distinguish you.
Who am I to deserve you? I didn’t even finish my poems about you,
Hotel Corridor, perhaps with this poem, I would never have seen you leave.
And even though I never felt your lips,
I don’t care if the wiser Parisians do it,
Because you know very well that I will always be your lipstick.
And though Apollo, Artemis, and Ares always dominate me, you will never cease to be my creator,
And even though my hands, eyes and lips will never feel you, you will never stop being my mentor.
At first you wanted my warmth, you considered me your need,
And now that I’m losing you, I feel like I can’t see clearly anymore.
I wrote Thoughts, with a little hope,
But what am I waiting for? If we never make the move.
Here I mention all the poems I ever wrote to you,
And it’s true that with some I broke you,
Now I understand why you decided not to fight for me anymore.
Under my blankets, I always wanted you,
Among my regrets, you stopped being my petite-amie.
With tears I close this poem, but not with a goodbye,
Because I love with heart, and though my soul is wounded
I’ll never give you up.
You’ll always be a beautiful Frenchwoman,
You are still, my most precious poet,
You will never cease to be, more beautiful than a nebula,
You will never stop being, my little butterfly.
