Verses that howl
verses that rise, as if they're bayonets
verses that threaten the established order
and in their few feet
make or break the revolution -
useless, false, boastful
because today no verse topples regimes
no verse mobilizes the masses.
(What masses? now, between us -
who thinks of the masses?
at most a personal deliverance, if not recognition)
That's why I no longer write
in order to offer paper guns
weapons made of babbling, hollow words.
But only to lift up a small corner of the truth
to cast a little light on our counterfeit life.
As much as I can, as long as I endure.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem