Anick Roschi







In the hollow  

Of a silver wave,

Young bodies

Run aground,



Froth smuggler,

Between your continents


The sea

Has its backwash,



Its new clandestine borders


The sea

Has disastrous appointments.




Homage to Aung San Suu Kyi:




At the seat of the Kings

An orchid

Dances its night


In the street the voices

Of the cuckoo of the crane

And the peacock

Are tinkling


Charged with emotion

The harp disguises

The goat, the cow, the horse

And the elephant


At the bestiary of the Kings

An orchid

Languishes the day



Anick Roschi © 2009

Capital Ground



Now is the shared time

Of our last riches


To each birth


A drop of water

Thirsty of river


To each birth


A drop of sweat

Exhausted of misery


To each birth


A drop of air

Dirty of deserts


Now is the exorcised time

Of our planetary reasons


The articulated time

Of a capital




Anick Roschi © 2009