No 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

A Man of no Importance

I was a shadow child,
prodigal son guided by
the careful hands of Forgiveness,

lost soul made of star dust,
younger brother of words like
orphan and light.

I learned little by little
both from short lives
and long silences.

I finally became
a man of no importance:
I was everyone

and everyone was me.
The starry sky had reminded me
who I really am.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Star of the Hero
(Nicholas Roerich 1936)

 

Radiant Sun

This may sounds like
a last au revoir.

It is not a brilliant poem.
Not even a child’s song.

I just want to write
a few words about Love.

There is no guide
but the Heart.

There is no wandering
when kindness is the Light,

and for even the tiniest spark
will turn into a radiant sun,

there is no darkness,
there is no farewell.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

The World that is not a Dream

Cello. Piano. Adagio.
Words fallen from the sky.
Why do they not want to sing?
What does their silence mean?

Emotion. Illusion. Delusion.
How to be sure?
Some rhymes are impure!
My questions make no sense!

Now that you live in
the World that is not a dream
you can read everything unwritten
and make music out of nothing.

It is such a nice way
to answer me.

© Frédéric Georges Martin