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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required At high noontime, the tires are burning in the streets The sound of barking dogs is everywhere; the cats of hell smell Like never showered rats who are locked up in death row cells Where the air does not go through sealed windows No, my friends, I'm not dreaming; it’s a nightmare. The sun Is warming the pavement and the worms are coming out En masse. The ravines are crowded with small children That I could never imagined or seen with clear and open eyes From such a bizarre, awkward, frantic and satanic scene They’re talking about revolution, that sounds spooky and crazy Because we must talk about kindness, evolution, education Before contemplating such a magical or drastic motion Everything is aflame. The palace is on fire and the buildings Are red, inflamed. Oh! Yes, it is a total and capital fiasco All of this is to show the wickedness of the vile jackals The wild beasts which enjoy killing daughters and sons At noon, in daylight, the malefactors have no shame to hate Loot and burn everything they could neither imagined, nor created And built. These werewolves come from nowhere, from the wars Of hell, we wonder. We only know that we can't afford to live where Vile and wild animals can easily seize the streets manu militari For any new extenuating excuses, pretexts or fabricated reasons Where are the technocrats and the intellectuals of the past? A thin and weak voice coming from nowhere replied cowardly: They are all hidden or incarcerated in coffers infested with lice This explains why the werewolves are waltzing in the dusty streets In mid-afternoon where high priests and high pastors walk on bridges In ruins and normal toddlers no longer go to church. How awful, the pigs Are well dressed, during the rainstorm, where the contaminated air Escapes and embalms the disconcertedly distressed firmament What misery for a group of goons who are equally surly and jubilant! Copyright © March 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved. Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems. This is a translation of the poem 'La Valse Des Loups-Garous' by Hébert Logerie
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