9 octobre 2020
https://www.openedition.org/12554 , info:eu-repo/semantics/openAccess
Yalan Ati, « Poems », Institut Français de Pondichéry, ID : 10.4000/books.ifp.7351
Untitled Poem Don’t poke through my wordslooking for anything at allto give you pleasure: Half burnt bone ashesand the souls of ancestorslong since dead lie stillin those words, and in the stench of these linesyou will smell blood,blood oozing outof scratched fingers, and mud,mud in front of our housewhere never has there ever waftedthe fragrance of a flower, and you can see Uncle Munirattinam’s abusewhen he came home from work,exhausted and drunk,my words do haveall that. Our soulful music i...