The prayer (EN)

What use is it to me to pray if you don’t exist?
If the puddles only serve as a mirror
To my emaciated face, to my thin silhouette
If the destiny with the fingers of fairy
Did not know how to create you so that you become
My eternal star
If the destiny this incontestable master of our lives
Did not let you be born to life
If the rain closes its heavy coat
Only on my lonely and sick body
If the sun that opens its warm arms
Has not tanned you as it has burned my skin
If the stars in the firmament are silent
For they have not been able to light your dark pupils
What good is it to me, tell me my God,
What use is it to me to pray if it doesn’t exist?
I have crossed iron continents,
I have travelled the most unstable worlds
Balancing on an idea
That the woman I imagine opens her eyes
That her eyelashes are wings that I miss
To fly away from wars and dust
Far from the storytellers of good feelings
That this woman exists and I pack my bags
I’m going to join her in the four corners of the earth
The night may fall day after day on my pious back
I’ll slash her dark sheet to bring out the light
And the woman I love will appear starry with fire
In a halo of blue light
She will sing a long litany, her voice
Will be the bandage that was missing for my soul to heal
Her voice will be the balm that soothes my life
I will take her hand, the night will surround us
Protective and then a cloud of smoke
Will keep us from envious glances

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