Leopold Sedar Senghor
The crowding stony faces of my fellows make me afraid.
Out of my tower of glass haunted by headaches and my restless
I watched the roofs and hills wrapped in mist
Wrapped in peace. The chimneys are heavy and stark.
At their feet my dead are sleeping, all my dream made dust
All my dreams, blood are sleeping, all my dreams made dust
All my dream, blood freely split along the street, mingled with blood from butcheries
And now, from this observatory, as if from the outskirts of the town
I watch my dreams listed along the streets, sleeping at the foot of the hills
Like the forerunner of my race on the bank of the Gambia and Salum
Now of the seine, at the foot of the hills.
Lets my mind turn to my dead!
Yesterday was All Saint, the solemn anniversary of the sun
In all the cemeteries, there was no one to remember.
O dead who have always refused to die, who have resisted death
From the sine to the seine, and in my fragile vein you my
Guard my dreams as you have guarded your sons, your slender- limbed wanderers
O dead, defend the roofs of Paris in the Sabbath mist
Roof that guard my dead
That from the dangerous safety of my tower, I may go down into the
To my brother whose eyes are blue
Whose hands are hard.
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