شعر جميل باللغة الانجليزية

شعر جميل باللغة الانجليزية

شعر جميل باللغة الانجليزية

Well ! take it back so this little dark mud

Who for a few moments came to life under your hand;

In your superb disdain, relentless Nature,

Break forever the human mold.

Of those sad debris when you see, delighted,

Other creations hatch with large swarms,

Your Idea burst into forms of life

More docile to your plans,

Does it mean that He, your hope, your chimera,

Because it was dreamed, may one day exist?

You think you have conceived, you would like to be a mother;

At work ! it's about giving birth.

Change in reality your sublime expectation.

But what ! to cross them, despite all your impulses,

The distance is too great and too deep the abyss

Between your thought and your flanks.

Death is the only fruit in your future crises

You will be given to reach and pick;

Always new debris, always creatures

That you will have to bury.

For on your road, in vain, age at age succeeds;

Graves, cradles can accumulate,

The Ideal who fled from you, the Ideal who obsesses you,

To infinity to retreat.

The object of your eternal pursuit and without truce

Maintain a deceptive goal to your helpless flight

And, under the burning nose of desire and dream,

Is only a dazzling ghost.

It shines from afar, but remains inaccessible.

Prodigy of works, struggles, death,

Your hand sacrifices me to this impossible son;

I die, and He will not be born.

Yet I am your son too; real, vivacious,

I came out of your arms from far away ages;

I wear in my heart, I wear on my face,

The sign stamped with high destinies.

An endless future was opening up; in the quarry

Progress on his steps urged me to advance;

You would not even have to lift the barrier:

I'm here, ready to go.

I would be your furrow or your intense home;

You can open or light me as you please.

A unique spark, oh mother! a seed!

Everything ignites or everything will germinate.

Am I not alone to find you beautiful?

I counted your treasures, I testify your power,

And my intelligence, O eternal Nature!

You stretched your first mirror.

In return I get only disdain and offend.

Yes, always at risk and in vain fighting!

Distraught on your breast, without recourse or defense,

I exasperate and debate.

Ah! if at least my strength would have matched my rage,

I would have torn that breast hard and dumb:

Going to the assaults of my wild ardor,

He would have given me his secret.

It's done, I succumb, and when you say, "I aspire! "

I answer you: "I suffer! Crippled, bloody;

And by all that is born, by all that breathes,

This terrible cry is repeated.

Yes, I suffer! and it is you, mother, who exterminate me,

Sometimes striking my flanks, sometimes wounding my heart;

My whole being, by all its roots,

Plunge without bottom in the pain.

I offer under the sun a dismal spectacle.

Not born, living only to agonize.

The abyss opens here, there stands the obstacle:

Or swallow me, or break me!

But even under the blow of the supreme disaster,

I, the man, am accusing you in the face of heaven.

Creative, in the forehead, therefore receive the anathema

From this daring atom.

Be cursed, O stepmother! in your immense works,

Yes, cursed at your source and in your elements,

For all your abandonment, your forgetfulness, your dementia,

Also for your abortions!

May the Force in your womb run out at a loss!

That Matter, at the end of the nerve and spring,

Stay without movement, and refuse, inert,

To follow you in your growth!

That invading the skies, the dreary mobility

Under a funeral veil extinguishes any torch,

Because of a magnificent universe and without bounds

You only knew how to make a tomb!