To My Mother -
Born in Maïné Soroa - Niger,
From a Tuareg Oullimenden Tribe
“In my mother’s footsteps
Longing to live my African ancestry.”
Will my cells ever be grains of sand?
Will they open wide, bleed their whiteness,
Crush the Parisian wooden floor and
Narrate some Tuareg stories?
Will my eyes loose their cornered views?
And poke the sun with more dare
In the unknown, fierce solitary dunes?
Will my feet ever use their solid stand
To challenge and crack more skin
On the ancestry and the gone past of time?
Will my eyes ever squeeze, far from rooftops?
Will they ever turn indigo, in my opened sleep
When I imagine being a man?
Will my mother, now freed from colored skin,
Bring me to the African drums
And let me dance in the clapping hands?
Will Niger ever spell me its name?
Test my fingers at the goatskin’s ropes
And my mouth, at the Sahara’s kiss?
Will I catch my solitude in the sandy wind?
Or dive in the welcomed screams of Tuareg women
Like a newborn, born in my Mother’s birth.
Isabelle Rosier -
Born in Maïné Soroa - Niger,
From a Tuareg Oullimenden Tribe
“In my mother’s footsteps
Longing to live my African ancestry.”
Will my cells ever be grains of sand?
Will they open wide, bleed their whiteness,
Crush the Parisian wooden floor and
Narrate some Tuareg stories?
Will my eyes loose their cornered views?
And poke the sun with more dare
In the unknown, fierce solitary dunes?
Will my feet ever use their solid stand
To challenge and crack more skin
On the ancestry and the gone past of time?
Will my eyes ever squeeze, far from rooftops?
Will they ever turn indigo, in my opened sleep
When I imagine being a man?
Will my mother, now freed from colored skin,
Bring me to the African drums
And let me dance in the clapping hands?
Will Niger ever spell me its name?
Test my fingers at the goatskin’s ropes
And my mouth, at the Sahara’s kiss?
Will I catch my solitude in the sandy wind?
Or dive in the welcomed screams of Tuareg women
Like a newborn, born in my Mother’s birth.
Isabelle Rosier -
Blue Box of dreams © - Touareg Ancestry -
I have a blue box
Made of indigo dreams.
White edges
By the camels’ feet,
The dark of all shadows
In the palm of black men,
The carve and the might
Grave in the face’s splits
The sigh behind the eyes
Along the blessed oasis.
I have a blue box
Made of indigo dreams.
Pictures of female scent
Opening the colored cave
Where wars die in a yell
And life spits the first cry.
The light weld to the sword
Glistening pride under the veil.
I have this box,
But I can’t open it.
The blue is blind
The wind told me
This indigo hidden
In my red cells.
So at the cold dawn
I unite the sandy beads
And weave a primal rug
Made of Touareg dreams.
**********************************
I have a blue box
Made of indigo dreams.
White edges
By the camels’ feet,
The dark of all shadows
In the palm of black men,
The carve and the might
Grave in the face’s splits
The sigh behind the eyes
Along the blessed oasis.
I have a blue box
Made of indigo dreams.
Pictures of female scent
Opening the colored cave
Where wars die in a yell
And life spits the first cry.
The light weld to the sword
Glistening pride under the veil.
I have this box,
But I can’t open it.
The blue is blind
The wind told me
This indigo hidden
In my red cells.
So at the cold dawn
I unite the sandy beads
And weave a primal rug
Made of Touareg dreams.
**********************************
Love
I put on my scarf of longing,
My hood of immortal silk.
Who will put on my stockings ?
Limp from champagne,
Like an unsteady doe,
I surrender to the peace of love.
Dusk©
It is dusk – cast of yesterday - reply of tomorrow-
An indent on the hemisphere, a descent into darkness.
My dusk is floating between somber windows,
And sits in its old molding spot
With the ease of the head on a pillow.
It is dusk with promise of sunbirds and freedom.
Music yells in my belly, spilling my folly.
But my dusk designs lids and ashes,
And huddles in its dried muddy hole
With the ease of a fawn on the tall grass.
It is night - The sure certainty - the sure comfort -
Celestial tangos funneling deep changes.
But my night is a frozen, one beat waltz.
*****************************************************
A Moment of Despair
My shell of silence,
My body of puppetry,
My eyes of holed skin
My hanging mouth, far down
Underneath your garden
My long nails of Martian’s beauty
My feet of withered chains
My fired cheeks that burn my heart
And attract your kiss.
My body swinging in nothingness,
My voice lost in that heavy tear,
On your cheek.
My nose closed with mud,
My ears with stitches of fear,
My shadow tired of itself.
My emptied breath blowing circles
On your absence.
My nothingness falling down,
My name erased,
My shell of silence,
In your flesh of love.
*****************************
It is dusk – cast of yesterday - reply of tomorrow-
An indent on the hemisphere, a descent into darkness.
My dusk is floating between somber windows,
And sits in its old molding spot
With the ease of the head on a pillow.
It is dusk with promise of sunbirds and freedom.
Music yells in my belly, spilling my folly.
But my dusk designs lids and ashes,
And huddles in its dried muddy hole
With the ease of a fawn on the tall grass.
It is night - The sure certainty - the sure comfort -
Celestial tangos funneling deep changes.
But my night is a frozen, one beat waltz.
*****************************************************
A Moment of Despair
My shell of silence,
My body of puppetry,
My eyes of holed skin
My hanging mouth, far down
Underneath your garden
My long nails of Martian’s beauty
My feet of withered chains
My fired cheeks that burn my heart
And attract your kiss.
My body swinging in nothingness,
My voice lost in that heavy tear,
On your cheek.
My nose closed with mud,
My ears with stitches of fear,
My shadow tired of itself.
My emptied breath blowing circles
On your absence.
My nothingness falling down,
My name erased,
My shell of silence,
In your flesh of love.
*****************************
Language ©
Lying down, eyelid in my thoughts,
Melodies of words rang,
And in the fog of late afternoon sleep,
Ocher, azure or grandfather’ swing
They knock like iron bells
In churches and lavender’s rows.
Lying down, one ear in my nap
A march of syllables sang,
And in the slumber of heated fields,
Green wet paths and scarlet poppies,
They watered my cracked and stashed mumbles -
The tomb of my words, new popping bubbles.
Lying down, throat in euphony
Serpentine arias spit
And in the giggle of the open womb -
Sounds and accents, verbs and letters
Vibrate their blow, their newborn fate -
Multilingual chords for one human race.
Chrysalid. ©
I am caught in a cloak
I can’t crack it
I can’t cut it
It squeezes me tight
Until my voice fails.
So I remain there;
A paralyzed bug
With bulging eyes
Squashed inside out
Still trying, trying..
My micro vision
Magnifies my desert,
A field of stupor,
Poking the cells of life,
Silencing the murmur.
But drops of prayers
In the hopeful sand
Giggle with love
And new purple shoots
Tease my heart on hold.
Inert in that new grass,
I leave the past,
Opening the black net
Revealing tender roots
Above the dawn of buds.
Setting myself free,
My heart
In reverence and joy.
Sounds breaking my shell
Burst high in the sky.
The Plug ©
I feel the white cold wall
looking for the outlet.
It is dark, uncertain
and my hands palpate
as if burned and bruised.
The hard surface
does not respond and
I recoil in wonderment -
where is this socket?
The room sends out its mystery,
its cloak of ordinary details
against my fiery heart,
carving and clipping away
reflections from the essence.
I dot the wall with fingertips
seeking the alchemical holes
or the light, for the relief
like a plant’s stretch
into the luminescent joy.
I incarnate all kingdoms,
Animal grunts, on my four,
Eyes of the night owl,
loosing all sapiens lucidity.
Where is this socket..?
The electric cord waits patiently
like a feeble arm for a transfusion
of blood, light or laughter.
I want the light.
I want the Light…
I petrify in that darkness.
A log in my throat,
chips from the day
scratching my thoughts.
Suddenly the plug
dives into the perfect holes.
This ancient, comforting osmosis
Ignites wall, room and heart.
But as I plug for a lamp's connection,
Unaware, I plug for higher connections.
And as instant is the light
as instant is the revelation.
This is the mirror of my upper gaze.
I sit and ponder.
Something else is lit now.
The plug screams its normalcy
and yet…
Confused Identity ©
I stopped at my feet:
In front of me, a giant shadow
With black toes touching mine.
The children's game
"Knock, knock!" "Who's there?"
Rolled down the shadow
Like a racer in training,
And in a fun jerking movement
It halted at my bare feet.
The question mark curled up to my eyes,
With a twinkling, amused shape.
I could even hear the snake’s Charmer’s flute!
But I remained speechless.
"Who was there?" "Was it I?"
"Who am I?"
Uninvited, the question entered in me;
Hands, heart, head.
Bones, brain, back,
All the cells felt the pulsing
Of the insisting interrogation.
After a full flood,
It lingered in brighter inner worlds
And dared an escape into the Light.
I am still speechless.
The living, now blazing shadow
Awaits at my feet, patiently..
Lying down, eyelid in my thoughts,
Melodies of words rang,
And in the fog of late afternoon sleep,
Ocher, azure or grandfather’ swing
They knock like iron bells
In churches and lavender’s rows.
Lying down, one ear in my nap
A march of syllables sang,
And in the slumber of heated fields,
Green wet paths and scarlet poppies,
They watered my cracked and stashed mumbles -
The tomb of my words, new popping bubbles.
Lying down, throat in euphony
Serpentine arias spit
And in the giggle of the open womb -
Sounds and accents, verbs and letters
Vibrate their blow, their newborn fate -
Multilingual chords for one human race.
Chrysalid. ©
I am caught in a cloak
I can’t crack it
I can’t cut it
It squeezes me tight
Until my voice fails.
So I remain there;
A paralyzed bug
With bulging eyes
Squashed inside out
Still trying, trying..
My micro vision
Magnifies my desert,
A field of stupor,
Poking the cells of life,
Silencing the murmur.
But drops of prayers
In the hopeful sand
Giggle with love
And new purple shoots
Tease my heart on hold.
Inert in that new grass,
I leave the past,
Opening the black net
Revealing tender roots
Above the dawn of buds.
Setting myself free,
My heart
In reverence and joy.
Sounds breaking my shell
Burst high in the sky.
The Plug ©
I feel the white cold wall
looking for the outlet.
It is dark, uncertain
and my hands palpate
as if burned and bruised.
The hard surface
does not respond and
I recoil in wonderment -
where is this socket?
The room sends out its mystery,
its cloak of ordinary details
against my fiery heart,
carving and clipping away
reflections from the essence.
I dot the wall with fingertips
seeking the alchemical holes
or the light, for the relief
like a plant’s stretch
into the luminescent joy.
I incarnate all kingdoms,
Animal grunts, on my four,
Eyes of the night owl,
loosing all sapiens lucidity.
Where is this socket..?
The electric cord waits patiently
like a feeble arm for a transfusion
of blood, light or laughter.
I want the light.
I want the Light…
I petrify in that darkness.
A log in my throat,
chips from the day
scratching my thoughts.
Suddenly the plug
dives into the perfect holes.
This ancient, comforting osmosis
Ignites wall, room and heart.
But as I plug for a lamp's connection,
Unaware, I plug for higher connections.
And as instant is the light
as instant is the revelation.
This is the mirror of my upper gaze.
I sit and ponder.
Something else is lit now.
The plug screams its normalcy
and yet…
Confused Identity ©
I stopped at my feet:
In front of me, a giant shadow
With black toes touching mine.
The children's game
"Knock, knock!" "Who's there?"
Rolled down the shadow
Like a racer in training,
And in a fun jerking movement
It halted at my bare feet.
The question mark curled up to my eyes,
With a twinkling, amused shape.
I could even hear the snake’s Charmer’s flute!
But I remained speechless.
"Who was there?" "Was it I?"
"Who am I?"
Uninvited, the question entered in me;
Hands, heart, head.
Bones, brain, back,
All the cells felt the pulsing
Of the insisting interrogation.
After a full flood,
It lingered in brighter inner worlds
And dared an escape into the Light.
I am still speechless.
The living, now blazing shadow
Awaits at my feet, patiently..