Believe my words.
Love is Memory in its purest form.

I
I loved a galley slave madly
and remained faithful.

II
I prostituted myself in Babylon
but never lost my virginity.

III
I denied my homeland
and found my island.

IV
A king abused me.
I found refuge in a silent garden.

V
I took my own life.
I descended into Hell.

VI
I saved many lives,
many more than I lived.

VII
I fell on the fields of honor.
I still feel the flame.

VIII
I sang dark songs
in theaters bathed in light.

IX
And I write poems to remember
everything about my

ninth life.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: The Girls of Avignon
(Picasso, 1907)

In a former life I was a cat,
or maybe a carefree chickadee
twirling through the air,
I don’t remember very well.

Centuries later I became
a ghost poet whose dark soul
was riding the Night wind,
chasing stars and winged words.

Since I woke in a world of dreams,
I have been seeking
the path on the rainbow,
but this is my seventh life,

and God only knows
whether tomorrow I’ll be like
shadow turned into Light,
or Light turned into darkness,

and all I can say today is that
I love the way the bird of Hope
sings at twilight and seems to say
I am still not ready to die.

© Frédéric Georges Martin