The desert! The desert in its immensity,
With its great voice, its wild beauty;
Its peaks touching the earth, its savannahs, its waves,
Cataracts rolling beneath deep forests;
Its thousand noises, its cries, its muffled roars,
Gigantic concert of all the elements!
The desert! The desert! When the eastern dawn
Rises, and makes the treasures it displays shine:
When the fragrant bud of the magnolia
Opens under the kisses of some beloved insect;
When the flowering vine, fragrant labyrinth,
Enfolds the palm tree in a loving embrace;
And when, rejoicing beneath these light panelings,
Living carbuncles sing the hummingbirds!
The American desert with all its graces,
When no mortal trace remained,
And with its great woods, its waters, its gold mines
It offered itself to Columbus' gaze, still virgin.
Ah! who has not dreamed of this beautiful nature;
Who would not have wanted to leave this world of imposture,
This world where every great heart ends up degrading itself,
To run to the desert, alive, to bury itself?
To seek in the Eden of Paul and Virginie
The ineffable happiness that the earth denies,
A vow of peace and love conceived by every heart,
And which vanishes, alas! always disappointed!
This is often my dream
In these moments of profound boredom.
Where despair, like a sword
Remains suspended on my brow.
The desert, the desert calls me,
Why these chains on my steps? Traveling birds, on your wings
Why don't you carry me away?
My numb soul needs
A new world to explore;
It needs an enlarged sphere
For the poet who is about to die!...
I hope you like this poem.
Sleep well, dear Sushama.
Françoise
PS: a photograph of the desert in the volcanic island of Lanzarote
