Landscapes/ Poetry 

 Behind faces and gestures 
We remain mute 

And spoken words heavy 

With what we ignore or keep silent 

Betray us 
I dare not speak for mankind 

I know so little of myself 
But the Landscape 
I see as a reflection 

Is also a lie stealing into 

My words I speak without remorse 

Of this image of myself 

And mankind my unequaled torment 
I speak of Desert without repose 

Carved by relentless winds 

Torn up from its bowels 
Blinded by sands 

Unsheltered solitary 

Yellow as death 

Wrinkled like parchment 

Face turned to the sun.

 
I speak 

Of men’s passing 

So rare in this arid land 

That it is cherished like a refrain 

Until the return 

Of the jealous wind 
And of the bird, so rare, 

Whose fleeting shadow 

Soothes the wounds made by the sun 
And of the tree and the water 

Named Oasis 

For a woman’s love 
I speak of the voracious Sea 

Reclaiming shells from beaches 

Waves from children 
The faceless Sea 

Its hundreds of drowned faces 

Wrapped in seaweed 

Slippery and green 

Like creatures of the deep 
The reckless Sea, unfinished story, 

Removed from anquish 

Full of death tales 
I speak of open valleys 

Fertile at men’s feet 

Overgrown with flowers 
Of captive summits 
Of mountains, of clear skies 

Devoured by untamed evergreens 
And of trees that know 

The welcome of lakes 

Black earth 

Errant pathways 
Echoes of the faces 

Haunting our days

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