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Translation of Marcel Moreau's " Je t'écris " by T. Wignesan I WRITE TO YOU I choose green ink to write to you For Love does not prescribe any one hue In the hope you might take shape When desire seizes me agape You, the enigma of my dreams Come, meet me when the day dawns To share but one solitary pillow Where we may entwine Love herebelow I pen these words in green ink For pleasure makes one think Of the patient sweetness of kisses Of the exalting ardour of passions I write to you in green ink taint For passion at dawn heralds no end To diverse phantasies that lie in wait At the edge of a bed left quite unmade I write one lone evening in autumn The green ink has lost its vibrant tone Sick my soul for the want of you The world split apart in more than two I write no more to you, dear Angel All colours of ink I have let spill Into the sea where currents collide Waiting hardly makes you come with the tide I shall write you no more my Sweetheart No more the flame lights up in my heart That flame I lit up when winds coursed through Like a tearing apart of emotions true Should I write to you again Of star-studded heavens you to win Even the body to embrace you now pales I have only my spirit left your Love inhales © T. Wignesan - Paris, February 25, 2019 Je T'écris... - Poem by Marcel Moreau Je t'écris à l'encre verte, Car l'amour est une porte ouverte À l'espérance de te découvrir Dans des moments de désir. Toi, l'inconnue de mes rêves, Rencontre-moi au jour qui se lève Pour partager mon seul oreiller Sur lequel on peut s'aimer. Je t'écris à l'encre verte Car le plaisir est une pensée À la patience des doux baisers, À l'ardeur de s'exalter. Je t'écris à l'encre verte Car la passion est une aube ouverte À l'attente des fantasmes divers Au bord d'un lit découvert. Je t'écris un soir d'automne, L'encre verte devient monotone; Le mal de vivre, le manque de toi, Un monde de désarroi. Je ne t'écris plus mon ange, J'ai jeté toutes les couleurs d'encre Dans la mer aux flots récalcitrants, L'attente n'a plus de sens. Je ne t'écris plus mon âme, Mon cœur n'a plus cette jolie flamme Que j'attisais à l'heure des vents Comme un long déchirement. Dois-je encore t'écrire Du monde étoilé pour te séduire? Je n'ai plus de corps pour t'embrasser, Je n'ai que mon esprit pour t'aimer. (c) Marcel Moreau- Paris
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