The dead Lover
by Guillaume Prevel
From aisles to back alleys
Same sad refrain!
Alignment of collapsed tombs,
To lose his way.
Here is the landscape of his new world,
And of the dark and filthy abyss
Where he survives thanks to the loved one and his memory
Despite the devouring prison that is his black coffin.
Often when he sees his beloved sad and wandering,
He would like with a light breath to materialize
And dry the ocean of his tearful life
By placing a soft and warm kiss on his lips.
But he knows that he belongs to the jealous arms of death,
So he moves away each time from the forbidden surface
So as not to show the atrocity of his body,
To the one he still loves with a cursed passion.
And he wanders, pushing aside the hundred-year-old roots,
Screaming under the earth of his muffled and desperate anger,
And praying to the Gods and the Devils to resuscitate
In order to be brought back alive to the one who remains his light.