DEATH'S SMILE
Death smiles at me in my nightmares.
I'll end up in hell like all those daring spirits.
Every time I pass a cemetery, I curse Lucifer.
One more day on this generous planet for the dark souls.
A hard-drug cure to silence those ill-omened angels.
I'm always in a bad mood without the sweetness of those bundles of green bills.
My sense of joy is monetary.
I wield the weapons of war like a soldier trapped in the bowels of a banana republic.
Hating myself is a suicidal project.
I address the angel of death from the African slums.
I break their laws; I'm not in a republican mood.
My logic is a Saharan burst of gunfire.
Descendant of guerrillas of Sahelian culture.
I'm allergic to Françafrique when I hear the self-pitying ramblings of the Republic.
My lights come from the openings of the homeland of those fanatic slave-traders.
I am a fundamentalist Catholic who recites Quranic verses like an alcoholic.
I hate failure and I adore easy money from illicit drug trade.
I prefer darkness, like the Western predators who rob Africa.
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