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.

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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 evening breeze oscillates
between sadness and wisdom.

White ships move slowly.
The Moon shines brightly.

No matter if we built
a castle in the sky.

We had to learn
about dreams and Time.

When you look at the starry sky,
every moment lasts forever.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

waves crashing on shore wipe away
footprints in the sand

my hand will turn into dust
and so will yours

the wind blows
leaves and children fall

and flowers bloom
in silent stone gardens

but words
follow the Soul home

and tears dry up
like dew in the sun

Love is beyond space
Love is beyond time

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Let there be a Garden.
A Garden of Words
where the breeze blows slowly
and time goes back.

Ivy covered walls and a bench
facing the beautiful sunrise,
jasmine and clematis
climbing up old pear trees,

small white roses
humbly standing in the light
and shy patient ferns
with closed eyes.

A place like this is rare.
But now we can find it.
Please come whenever you like.
I will always be there.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

De ces quelques mots
je fais un jardin.
Un jardin caché derrière
un mur de lierre.

J’y ai planté du jasmin
qui grimpe dans un vieil arbre sage
et j’y ai mis un banc
d’où l’on voit peut voir

le soleil levant.
Et de petites roses blanches,
et de patientes fougères
aux grands yeux fermés.

Viens !
Ce jardin est le tien.
Et toujours tu pourras
m’y retrouver.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

It’s not springtime
yet Spring is in the air.

Birds seem not to care
and roses confuse
dreams with reality.

But shadows lengthen
and the robin’s heart
beats faster and faster.

September farewell.
There so little time left.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Un air de printemps
flotte sur le jardin.

L’oiseau semble indifférent
et la rose prend
ses rêves pour la réalité.

Mais les ombres s’allongent
et le cœur du rouge gorge
bat la chamade.

Adieu Septembre.
Il reste si peu de temps.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Ombre© 2018– F.G.M.