John Rolland

You are my russian girl,
don't need blond hair accent,
you are my italian girl
full of round tomato kisses,
...

I want to talk about my city,
Of her tired people who stride over her windy streets,
who have eyes wetter than western rains,
They work from the morning till evening
...

To Love is a boomerang,
When you throw it
It returns in your heart
With more speed
...

It is the spring,
a 'I do not know what' in the air
make run the boys,
flowers are in love,
...

Foolish wars
when I resist,
I don't know why
to your lovely eyes,
...

I painted a door
with my old blood,
blood of God,
blood of Love,
...

Today I looked at a tree,
It distracted me from the time which passes
Of the reason in the selfish traps,
...

If wishes were horses, then beggars might ride
But not only, we would also put Bordeaux
In a bottle of dark green color,
We would put Brest in a coffeepot of sailor
...

Her bosoms
are two erasers
Which erase
My spelling mistakes,
...

I make you this confession
Although of Christian faith,
The sound which I prefer
It is the voice of the Muezzin
...

Having circled all around the Earth
in the blue labyrinth of seas
It enters with giant steps in the natural harbour
And its propellers tame the slowness of the bank.
...

N'oublies jamais qu'une fille peut attendre cinq ans
et te quitter en cinq secondes,

N'oublies jamais qu'elle peut se passer de toi
...

I was a hierarchical vision of the world,
attached on invisible connections
between the wide cranes and the stars,
between the imagination and the jump of the salmons,
...

Even when you are not there
Your eyes open the impossible,
As dense books of pleasure
On beaches of seething summer.
...

In front of the church Terreiro de Jesus
Three angels invited me,
Not to pray to God,
Not to wash my feet,
...

I left to go hunting,
with a knife and bullets,
I did not kill a deer,
I did not meet a lynx
...