Listen to poem:
Complainte aux souvenirs
Between my hands warming themselves in the sun of tomorrow,
The memory of our shared moments is still present.
The sky, a wash of orange watercolor where a jasmine scent drifts.
My nets pull up my thoughts, anchors from the depths of time.
Between my hands escapes a smile lit by the lights of the past,
The memory of last hopes, for we always want to believe.
Each moment becomes precious and our eyes are filled with tears,
Our gazes speak and understand each other, time is running out.
Between my hands I press my temples tightly so as not to forget,
The memory of shared moments, no more trivialities, just being there.
You are luminous, the sound of logs crackling in the fireplace.
These exchanged words are nectar, and the fire will not erase them.
Our gazes meet and we know your body is growing tired,
Our pasts no longer matter in the fury of destiny.
One step, it is obvious, a thread of hope for life to charm again.
Last flash of light, time is hurried — here is the end of the path.
Joël Charvillat
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