On a clear and sunny Sunday
behind the railings of a bourgeois house
I saw patient roses in prison.

I thought of those caged birds
whose poignant songs grieve
the deep blue sky.

But the roses were not sad at all.
They were dancing slowly
with the old rusty iron bars.

The flowers had freed my heart
from confusion and impatience:
I was the prisoner!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Roses prisonnières © 2019– F.G.M.

Almost all the leaves have fallen,
the two last roses of the year
do not seem to feel the threat.

Candles cannot replace the sun,
it’s drizzling. I forget.
My soul is poor and wet.

But that is how the World
and the Heart reflect Light.
Winter. Sadness. Beauty.

Revelation.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Presque toutes les feuilles
sont tombées,
et deux roses dernières
ne semblent deviner la menace.

Quelques bougies ne peuvent
remplacer le soleil.
J’oublie. Sur mon âme nue,
il bruine.

Mais c’est ainsi que le monde
et le cœur reflètent la lumière.
Hiver. Tristesse. Beauté.
Révélation.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Deux roses © 2017 – F.G.M.