"Afrique Sacrée"
she was there, strong, powerfull, fertile,
like Earth itself
wildly generous
but I couldn't see her face
she was looking towards another dimension
connecting her mind to the spirits
then, in her glass box, lost far away from ancestral home,
i saw her expression
so scared that she became scary
the Face of the Reflection
the only part of her
that was able to tell
to the carefull visitor
how
cut from her roots in her village
between men and women daily working
used and welcomed by them in their house
she became a dead piece of wood
grabed in a crystal coffin
in the supreme name of
CULTURE
Je ne me souviens plus où j'ai lu cette remarque
qui disait que
les sociétés qui ont besoin de fêter une Journée pour la Culture
sont peut-être bien celles où la Culture,
est devenue étrangère au quotidien d'une existence
au point où on en remarque la lourde absence...
car celui qui vit sous le ciel étoilé chaque nuit, demande-t-il d'être éclairé par des néons?
Simple réflexion.
