Mother Earth

Mother Earth is crying
tears of salt and blood.
Disregard burns her face,

rivers of blue flowers run dry,
and fearsome shadows haunt
the Gardens of the Alhambra.

Do we really want to hear
the Song of the World’s last Whale?
This is not a morality Tale.

Uncaring children
do not know what they are doing.
Who will look after orphans?

Mother Earth is dying!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Sunny Smile

Children of the stars
on a human journey
we have forgotten
the Infinite.

But the Sky remembers
as well as the Bird in us.
It is not afraid of heights.
Not bounded by borders.

We live in a cage
with a door wide open.
Sunny Smile. Sunny World.
Love gives us wings.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Garden of Words / Le Jardin

Let there be a Garden.
A Garden of Words
where the breeze blows slowly
and time goes back.

Ivy covered walls and a bench
facing the beautiful sunrise,
jasmine and clematis
climbing up old pear trees,

small white roses
humbly standing in the light
and shy patient ferns
with closed eyes.

A place like this is rare.
But now we can find it.
Please come whenever you like.
I will always be there.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

De ces quelques mots
je fais un jardin.
Un jardin caché derrière
un mur de lierre.

J’y ai planté du jasmin
qui grimpe dans un vieil arbre sage
et j’y ai mis un banc
d’où l’on voit peut voir

le soleil levant.
Et de petites roses blanches,
et de patientes fougères
aux grands yeux fermés.

Viens !
Ce jardin est le tien.
Et toujours tu pourras
m’y retrouver.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Not far from the Sea / Non loin de la Mer

Not far from the sea
we’ll live in a place of light
and gentle peace.
Behind whitewashed walls
I will plant wild lavender
and myrtle,

and sometimes before
fire angels open
the gates of dawn
shiny stars will fall
from ebony skies –
I saw them in a dream!

Thus we’ll grow old and wise
and neither Night nor Death
shall be able to separate us.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Non loin de la mer
nous vivrons dans la lumière
et dans la paix.
Derrière des murs blanchis à la chaux
j’aurai planté des lavandes sauvages
et du myrte,

et parfois,
avant que des anges de feu
ouvrent grand les portes de l’aube,
de brillantes étoiles tomberont
des cieux d’ébène.
En rêve, je les ai vues !

Ainsi nous vieillirons ensemble
et ni la Nuit ni la Mort
ne pourront nous séparer.

© Frédéric Georges Martin