Now our New Year has no moon
The moon rises to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Dreaming, I take the rifle and shoot my own heart. Now our New Year has no moon. The streetlamps of La Chappelle bend down to the darkness but still spread their light. I shoot them out, one by one. An unknown Tamil comes along. I say Hello and ask him for a match. Then I see that his eyes are seeking a life. I am asking for a light and he is asking for a life? Yes, we are the generation That lit our cigarettes On the pyres of burning bodies. Was there a dead person staggering along the street Smoking a cigarette in your New Year dream? He had a house but no bed to sleep He had a village but no road to walk He had a country but no freedom to smile. This is why our New Year has no moon. When you gobble your milk rice…
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