Denis Emorine


As a backdrop
there would be scars of war on the curtains of time,
the indifference of men,
the impure truth of arms leveled at anything that moves,
the din of life that rebels at every moment.
in vain,
in vain ...

Your voice powerless to avert the words of war
the raucousness of the moment.

I want words
to KILL the


They appeared at daybreak. In their eyes the earth could be seen opening up and the fire dancing on the dead. They did not look anyone in the face and especially not the child who vanished at their approach. They were silent before innocence because they had devastated it just as they wished. When you raised your finger to the sky they turned their eyes away while clutching their weapons. No one knew where they came from nor where they were going. They would have liked to tuck themselves away in the hollow of the earth but that space was already taken by the dead.

They passed through the village without a backward glance. Oblivion was their only certainty but I am not sure they found it.

Even under the ashes.

Little by little they unlearned the heartbeats of the day.


Horizon overcast
body scattered in the fog of sights
no more life, they say

Killing as a habit
from boredom
or lassitude
by the supreme authority
Finally to know
that God does not exist


In the smoky fumes of exile
they sometimes sketched a gesture
towards the other
but the horror that they read
on that face
that is THEIR OWN
So impossible to embrace
the one who was so like them
that brother who is dying
under the blows
that they count mechanically
the other


"my" god

I would like to strangle you with my bare hands
to prevent you from causing more harm
sighs the soldier free at last
after the daily murders

His weapon lies at his feet

blushing at the crimes
past and to come
it purrs gently

translated from the French by Brian Cole

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