My father who is not in the village any more
My father who may be one day, very discretely, I loved.
My father who went by the path without envies
My father who may be one day, very discretely, I loved.
By the blood so brave which runs in my veins
by the features of your face which are fading...
As the shout which drowns my chest,
My father !
By the scarf which was dividing entirely your belly,
My father !
By the secrets of the onion in my mother’s fingers,
My father !
By the pallid evenings in the kitchen of the house,
My father !
By the dreams which might be yours
sliding by the sink...
my father, by my brothers
sliding by the sink….
That the memory find you
the memory of the father and of the son
the memory, the old female cat,
the memory, oh my father.
By the ties which unite me to your names
your hands and your round skull
and your laugh I did not like...
When I only wanted to go to pick
my father !
Fennel, passed the reds’ bridge,
my father !
That it find intact my griefs
my father !
a six-years old little girl’s griefs
my father !
I find intact, my father,
your story and mine
my father, together, loving each other
your story and mine...
Cock, hen, chick, my father ?
Cock, hen, chick my father
As never we could be,
As never they will be able to be, now,
As never we could be,
As never they will be able to be, now
As never we could be,
As never they will be able to be, now
As never we could be,
As never they will be able to be, now
Cock, hen, chick, my father ?
Cock, hen, chick my father ?
My father !
My father who is not in the village any more.