Comment pouvons nous espérer, pauvres brindilles, malmenées dans les champs fleuris, etres a part, fous de trop d'amour qui au moindre souffle, s'envolons... Comment pouvons nous espérer vivre etre vus par les autres et reconnus? Inacessibles, pour eux nous ne sommes pas et face a leur indifférence, invisibles et muets nous mourrons.
Elisabeth Lions 1997
Incomprehension
How may we hope, poor twigs, trampled in flowering fields, separate beings, crazed by surfeit of love, flying away at air's lightest breath... How may we hope to live, be seen by others and recognized? Unreachable, for them we do not exist, and facing their indifference invisible and mute we perish.
Translation by Izabel Sonia Ganz 1997
Peinture par Elisabeth Lions, Provence
Yet if I speak and from the other side of malevolent wall pulsing and brimming with its own sick life fed by our fears, our failures, our perversions, I hear an echo of my own distress a cry of pain that resonates my voice -
shall I discard the faint glimmer of hope stomp out the spark that barely glows alive
or fan it gently through its fitful birth?
Shall I let it bloom with petals flaming high into a fire that crosses all walls leaps over fences of incomprehension letting them melt and wither and dissolve?
