The Soul is a gold leaf
that dances and crumbles away
as it falls from a tree
on a grey November day.

The Soul is a snowflake
that shines in the white hugeness
under the cold Winter sun
of a magnificent Winter.

The Soul is a bird
that flies in the sky
and can reach for the stars
without waiting for the Night.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Trees weigh words and light,
and colors drown in the river.
Summer has lost its memory
but gardens remember Spring.

How strange! It seems to me
I am one thousand years old
and I feel like playing again
hide-and-seek with Fall.

I love those ember days
in the breath of the sun.
My soul was born in September:
today is forever.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration: Bridge at Montfoucault (Camille Pissaro, 1874)

ten
let’s try the word

nine
existence

eight
there is a light

seven
in the distance

six
no matter if

five
it’s raining

four
remember

three
the beauty of a rose

two
not eveything ends

one
there we go

zero
come into the rainbow!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Rainbow
(Arkhip Kuindzhi)

To bathe naked
in the river of Time.
To forget.
To relearn.
To walk to the edge of Hell.
To dream about Heaven
about love
and stars.

To be born again,
clothed in Light.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Dans la rivière du temps,
se baigner nu.
Oublier, réapprendre.
En Enfer
presque descendre
mais du Ciel
d’Amour et d’étoiles
toujours rêver.

Et renaître,
habillé de lumière.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

The Lake looks clear
and deep.
Farewell
beneath the blue sky.

The world is uspide down.
Did Time drown?
Heaven seems so near.
Am I falling asleep?

All things exist
Now.
Peace:
You are God.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Le lac semble clair
et profond.
Adieu
sous le ciel bleu.

Le monde est à l’envers.
Le temps s’est-il noyé ?
Le ciel semble si proche.
Suis-je en train de m’endormir?

Toutes choses existent
en cet Instant.
Paix :
Tu es Dieu.

© Frédéric Georges Martin