be like a wounded wolf who is silent to die
And that bites the knife out of his mouth that bleeds
Leconte de Lisle , Poems barbarians.
JUDGEMENT ON IMAGE
Let it be should say:
I no longer passes through these paths
Who once did
my delight the heart of the eye of the cyclone
Hearts without malice
Those were not the apple of my eye
lived, I believe, their
punishment is not working on my pre
And even before that
To turn a corner
Neither seen nor known
It m'étripât
But what is it this bait?
It sounds the horn!
Now I will not even
At the battle, the war
I already have the land Far
paths of yesteryear
Without bloodshed
Why
then we always see me
For these deserted places where there is a mess
And Paganism
Nonsense! Warlord me?
Even when I speak of peace
Sitting in my hallway
It would see me in Istanbul
hooting calls to battle
Actually in my pajamas I
tell stories to my children
Now I can count my years
Alas ! My image is made
My reputation may be overrated
All these aging musketeers
Some even bedridden
Old and new fifties
As many spirited mercenary
Invite to cross swords
Who does more of this hell
Osai I have laughed?
There is the mort
Belly to earth the hounds ran
As a hunt
They think I'm already dead
is pulled out my skin Bloody
gambling
To give myself to scavengers
Look at them: Like children lingered
They jump into the arena to do battle
prancing
But I am no longer
I serve the Queen
You'll have the lamb I will bring
myself After that I threw to the winds
The image of the Wild
EMERY G. UHINDU-GINGALA
(From Booklet)
