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Living Notebooks · Poems · 2 min
To write as close as possible to what is surfacing, without always seeking to conclude.
Weary humans my brothers
tossed about in the chaos
of useless words
that point to no star
I hear you crying out without end
dazed at being alive
absorbed in the empty night
— and your gestures, which no one inhabits any more
reared up at the threshold of the unknown
in a time stilled and vertical
I listen to you and I weep
for not knowing what to say
to lift the shadows that cover you
in my hands a few shards
a few old flints worn down too far
words knocked together
overrun by the din of machines
of blood spilled and tears
I dream
of a language of silence
of love and of gazes
each song of which would open
gateways of light
in the infinity of interiors
shared
Jérôme Nathanaël
© 2026 - Dialogues of the New World — Jérôme Nathanaël
In echo
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