This voice
that
rises from the depths of my hells,
I love this voice,
my voice,
supplicious
Tear my tympans,
burst
in my throat
This is the voice of love
The voice of tenderness,
of struggle
Black revolutionary,
that springs from my mouth
A bullet, twenty long rifles,
blow my hair
Sinks in my chest
I hear a sound,
the
tragedy in the soul I fall, inanimate
The breaking,
the palping, the caressing
These moments,
to better extend them
They say,
solid as your cords They defy the surrounding world
In the void and the nothingness I threw myself And I laughed,
and I sang,
I sang
My songs are national hymns My daughter will sing them
One day she will remember
A mother,
divine, my bitch
A mother,
without brother's taste Of thousands of boats
My song is the guide,
the flight of seagulls This song is for the happy,
the unhappy
Who will have heard my distress Who
will have leaned on my contested flight