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Writer's pictureAniss Benarrioua

The Doors of La Grande Poste



Narcotics, romance and scenes noir

Conter Fabric of italian shoes

The night smile on us again

Leaving the bars as the people hue

We dare the conformists in their rues

As they dared to mock us in the ground

As the wind beared to lift us array


Pennies in my pocket, filled with the mundane

Holes in my lungs, filled with rhymes

Leftover of a Karantita

For a mendiant african lolita

Dark poems and lamentations

On a raped ballerina

Hidden kisses are a public duty

Who dares to kiss the filthy citizenry ?

They drunk their mind willingly

They musn’t lock their spirit within



The doors of La Grande Poste now speak to me

In the garden of the books beneath the sea

Where the pedestrians come and go

Novels on Michaelangelo

In the spit of their damnation

We’ll be spiting illumination

We’ll gossip about reincarnation

And mock the town bursting in degradation


I’ll be known only for a while

Encircled by books yes I’ll be aroused

But if I’m known by the other guys

I’ll be encircled in a cell mostly accursed

On a steady canopy my black dalhia lies

With the lies that never unfold

And the men in the streets now abhor

The romance with the blade of grass



We as numidians we adapt

En route to carve another sin

Violon of the hushed violences

I was bruised by a police guard

One thousand and one students behind

I was decorating the Frontline

One thousand and one wounds entwined

I prayed to never ever leave the front


Sacred hovel of lies and scorns

What a dull idea to be born in Icosium

Sacred brothel of heathens and jews

Buy a perfume or pick a plume

Crow feather of the seventh rue

Let’s rewrite the «Ça ira»


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