The valleys are swept by the waves,
The sun seem like a raid by the local police
The sheets in our room are worried about our sweat
Traveler, the beach is not far
The surfers are the submerged birds
They descend from liquid clouds
1957, Basque beach,
The sun also rises,
Hemingway takes a tea
Ava Gardner is the star
It is a strange wooden board
An unusual show and already
On the shallows, the waves break
They tear the egos of men
Biarritz caresses the surfers’ spines
With its lashes moistened with pure gold
The surfers are its protégés, its children
And the city prays for their free soul
In French California,
Each drop of rain is a promise
Each wave a conquered freedom
And the foam recreates the stunned form
Of a God dazzled by the storm
Hashish in May, and surf culture
My heart is an unattached kite
And life is like this immense wave
In a controlled imbalance
Sunrise in front of the undressed bed
Traveler, take this wooden board,
May it take you away from false promises
May it make your soul slide to me