The Sleeping People

The enchanting night among the flocks of birds

What voice sings its name sweetly in the sky?

Wake up! No shadows, no fate.

A moon singing or moaning in the haze, recalling you.

A sky pierced by light and cut by the axe

Raining gold, without stars, with blood gliding over a body

A kind of revelation sent by fate beckons

Always the creatures sleeping under the flourishing sky.

Wake up! It is the world, it is its music. Please listen.

The earth is flying alertly, intoxicated with colors, desires that

Naked, unclothed, radiant, the

The priestess of the god of wine in the air reveals her beautiful heart, the

Blue veins, plump and glittering.

Look! Do you not see a charming thigh advancing!

A triumphant figure, a dress covered with stars

Slapping the blue, wet wind of the planet

Squeaking with renewed flight?

Do you hear a call in the night? Ah, sleeping people

Are all deaf to the psalm of praise? Raise the sweet cup of wine.

Ah, dear stars, the wine of heaven, will you

My lips will suck you forever, my throat

Burn with your wisdom, my eyes shine with tenderness.

Ah, the sleeping ones, the dead ones, the finished ones.

The whole night shines on Me, and illuminates your dreams. All madness to me, and all your glittering lace!

But, no, you are deadly silent, like the moon of the rock.

On earth, silent, without a graveyard.

Tents, feathers, and moonlit nights

Carry you, unburied ones, through the air.