By |

I’ve left the garden
where I used to find peace
and you.

But I’m not really sad.
Flowers bloom.
Butterflies will fly around,

and the Moon shines
and the Night wears
a coat of many colours.

Listen! Birds are calling
the God of Gardeners.
The stars are the same everywhere

and Trees have said a prayer:
tonight I will return to
the garden of treasures!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Le jardin que j’aimais,
je jardin où je pouvais
te retrouver, je l’ai quitté.

Mais je ne suis pas vraiment triste.
La lune brille, les arbres prient,
et la nuit porte un manteau de couleurs.

Partout les étoiles sont les mêmes
et Dieu toujours nous aime.
Alors cette nuit je sais,

je sais que j’y retournerai.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

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Torn-up letters of disdain.
Manuscripts thrown in the bin.
You say you are sorry.

But it is no so easy.
And I must close the book
on printed rainbows.

Raindrop words will never find
their place in the sun.
I give up. You have won.

Success will never come.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: The Book
(Juan Gris, 1913)

By |

the waves
unseen
unplayed strings

all the things
we have
forgotten

what the stars really mean
the strange friendship
between the Shade and the Light

the whispers of water
the Past before the past
the Song before the birds

flowerless ferns
remember
everything

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Parque Terra Nostra (São Miguel) © 2019– F.G.M.

By |

children of Icarus
we are all flying to the Sun
but even pure gold melts down

bodies made of wax
each of us shall pass away
and reduced to ashes of light

we’ll be like tiny Summer traces
words of Love
still unsaid

© Frédéric Georges Martin

By |

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

By |

Raindrops are God’s tears,
rainbows are Heaven’s doors
and I strongly believe
clouds are floating mountains.

I love to blow the dandelion flower.
I always do as I please
and often hurt my knees
and my heart.

But I don’t really mind.
I’m proud to tell everybody
I never grow up
and never will.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Cloud
(Arkhip Kuindzhi)