Your black zones
There are in you these black zones. There, where you hide your shades. Those which reinforce you or encumber you. All these things which attack you. You dark or you battles. These hatreds, these fears which push like undergrowth. To hide you, to protect you where that you go. I then any more to follow you, I am not any more size. The large white wall of your life bored. Many holes in which I tremble to engulf me. To face your faults. They cracked our old days, basked in the sun our complicity. We entered the half-light. Each one on our side. Living with mine, I felt the weight of your shades. You were closed again as I did. We saw our life melting. The daily newspaper narrowed to become a small whole nothing. Vis-a-vis the large wall of your life, I see nothing any more but black holes as deep as mine. We will not be able any more to answer us. Thus we were to pose the last point. I would never have thought that we would be able from there to mope. We are without a future. All is always written, the evil and the good. You told me. You repeated it to me. I could not believe in it. But, today in the black. I understand that the destiny is a form of truth. To accept it, it was necessary that I go until despair. To see you you going from there. You left me that in heritage. Did I really become wiser?
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Le grand mur de ta vie
Il y a en toi ces zones noires. Là, où tu caches tes ombres. Celles qui te renforcent ou t’encombrent. Toutes ces choses qui t’assaillent. Tu sombres ou tu batailles. Ces haines, ces peurs qui poussent comme des broussailles. Pour te cacher, te protéger où que tu ailles. Je ne peux plus te suivre, je ne suis plus de taille. Le grand mur blanc de ta vie s’est percé. De nombreux trous dans lesquels je tremble de m’engouffrer. Pour affronter tes failles. Elles ont craqué nos jours anciens, lézardé notre complicité. Nous sommes entrés dans la pénombre. Chacun de notre côté. Vivant avec les miennes, j’ai ressenti le poids de tes ombres. Tu t’es refermée comme je l’ai fait. Nous avons vu notre vie fondre. Le quotidien s’est rétréci pour devenir un tout petit rien. Face au grand mur de ta vie, je ne vois plus que des trous noirs aussi profonds que les miens. Nous ne pourrons plus nous répondre. C’est ainsi que nous devions poser le dernier point. Je n’aurais jamais pensé que nous en arriverions à nous morfondre. Nous sommes sans lendemain. Tout est toujours écrit, le mal et le bien. Tu me le disais. Tu me le répétais. Je ne pouvais y croire. Mais, aujourd’hui dans le noir. Je comprends que le destin est une forme de vérité. Pour l’accepter, il a fallu que j’aille jusqu’au désespoir. De te voir t’en aller. Tu m’as laissé cela en héritage. Suis-je vraiment devenu plus sage ?
Lire la suiteThe cat
I like the gleam of your eyes, your silky peeling. To cherish you, if you want it. To hear you hum. To go to the front of your curiosity. To feel your heat. to skim your softness. Companion of my lonelinesses. To look at you to feel to beat my heart. To trust, the high tail, never not judging my faults. Wound into a ball, showing only one truth. That of a certain brittleness. I like your sensitivity. You it proud recluse and proud. You it funambulist with the multiple faces. You fail yourself sometimes on other shores. They have the taste of blood. Flesh between the teeth. Machine to kill. With the sharpened claws. Your eyes shine of cruelty. How can you thus rook me? You, in whom I placed my confidence. You, who received all my confidences. I lie myself. I know your eyes, your bad glance. You never cheated. I let myself embark. To forget your shares of shades and lights. So that you remainders close to me, raising my prayers. Those to remain my friend. The last to accept my life. Ridge of fear and blacknesses. Ridges tops and bottom. Who has as a confessor a cat.
Lire la suiteLe chat
J’aime la lueur de tes yeux, ton pelage soyeux. Te caresser, si tu le veux. T’entendre ronronner. Aller au devant de ta curiosité. Sentir ta chaleur. Effleurer ta douceur. Compagnon de mes solitudes. Qui fait battre mon cœur. Qui efface mes turpitudes. Fier, la queue haute, ne jugeant jamais mes fautes. Pelotonné, ne montrant qu’une vérité. Celle d’une certaine fragilité. J’aime ta sensibilité. Toi l’orgueilleux solitaire et altier. Toi le funambule aux multiples visages. Tu t’échoues parfois sur d’autres rivages. Ils ont le goût du sang. Des chairs entre les dents. Machine à tuer. Aux griffes aiguisées. Tes yeux brillent de cruauté. Comment peux-tu me flouer ? Toi, qui porte ma confiance. Toi, qui a reçu toutes mes confidences. Je me mens. Je connais tes yeux, ton regard mauvais. Tu n’as jamais triché. Je me suis laissé embarquer. Pour oublier tes parts d’ombres, de lumières. Pour que tu restes près de moi, exhaussant mes prières. Celles de demeurer mon ami. Le dernier à supporter ma vie. Faîte de peurs, de noirceurs. De hauts, de bas. Qui a pour confesseur un chat.
Lire la suiteThe tower
There is in the middle of wood, on the top of a mountain, a large tower. Its roof bursts the sky. Like the drawn up finger of a provocation to the paradise, the hell, the whole ground. The storms of the summer, snows of the winter are baited above to destroy it but they never have enough forces to break it. Since centuries, it is there, resists the attacks of time, the words of the men. One does not know any more who built it. One does not know large any more thing besides. The legend reports that before the wolves, in band, came to lie down with its feet. That men died in front of his door. They wanted to enter, to protect, flee the snowstorm which froze them. They fell asleep died in the cold of the winter. The door of the tower opens only with those which have the key of it. The windows never light. It appears that pilgrims lost in the mountain saw it sparkling in the distance. That this light saved them, avoiding being mislaid. One tells so many things as the history of this woman who would live locked up inside of the centuries since. Some affirm to have seen its face looking through the panes. Too many silly things are said. I did not come you to tell them. I do not want to weary you. I am there to announce to you that I received the key from it. I can open the door. Together, we can climb the staircase of the tower which assembles all at the top of stars, so far ground, sea, the sky will do only one. You take to me for insane. I know it. How to convince you of the opposite? I hesitate since so a long time announcing it to you. The key fell from the sky, sent by the last which are assembled. They threw it as the stick of a relay which they wanted to transmit to us. Look at, it is between my hands. Small, fragile, I would have thought it more impressive, in keeping with a present which is made us. Why, don’t you want to see it? It offers eternity to us. It is the most beautiful present that we can receive. You doubts of me. You doubts of you. Are you afraid of my proposal? I do not know if you take to me for insane or if you fear to pass eternity to my sides. You do not know if your love will have this force. You are afraid, I feel it, understand it. You do not hesitate any more. You reject my proposition. I cannot hate you. All goes so quickly. The choice that I propose to you exceeds you. You are in a dead end. Refusing to go up the staircases of time. To live your life with back, not to know what could have been your many other mornings. I do not speak myself about future but about past. As if I doubted our following days. It is that which does you fear, more than all. You do not take to me for insane. I understand better why you refuse. By my fault, you do not believe any more in us.
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J'aime ce qui est gothique, ce qui est romantique, je vous présente mes textes et mes photos. I like what is gothic, what is romantic, I present my texts and photos Steffan Urell
