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A Soul liberated… In its French original text written in 2007. Translated and adjusted 13th May 2013

having arrived home ©copyright2013owpp

having arrived home

This poem was inspired by family feuds and has no political insinuation.

A soul liberated

Fugitive of your house
Of your roots, from a
War of words, they
Lurk behind a facade
Waving the flag of
Innocence, of alleged
Love, insinuating disgust
By a hasty and confined
Interpretation of the
Forbidden apple as of
A soiled banner…
A cease-fire harbored
By illusions built on
A house of cards collapsed
By the simple breath of
Intolerance and these
Weaknesses resurface,
Sainthood as a pretext,
Finished off by the Coup
De grâce, exploiting the
Vulnerability, threatening
Out of revenge, trampling
And soiling a patched past…
These trials became your
Strength, have plowed the
Too embedded furrows
By apathy, by a life
Devoid of interest
Rising from the ashes
Of a suspended soul
The illusion of bliss,
Built by repetitive
Movements. You
Detected in the
Obscurity, the Manna
That fell upon you
The reason and rational
Motive of a highly
Guarded plan.
You have revealed
A light usually hidden.
Perceived and exposed
Divinity among
The storms of your

Tumultuous life.

Une âme libéré

Fugitif de ta maison
De tes raçines par une
Guerre de mots, ils se
Tapissent derrière une
Façade, brandissant le
Drapeau de l’innocence
D’amour prétendu
Insinuant le dégoût
Par une interpretation
Hative et borner de la
Pomme défendu comme
D’un étendard souiller…
Un cessez-le-feu bercer
D’illusions bâtis en château
De cartes écroulé par le simple
Souffle de l’intolérance et,
Ressurgit ces faiblesses,
Sainteté comme prétexte
Achever par le coup de grâce
Exploitant la vulnérabilité,
Menaçant par vengeance
Piétinant et souillant
Un passé rapiécé…
Ces épreuves, devenu ta force
Ont labouré les sillons, trop
Incruster par l’apathie, par
Une vie dénuée d’intérét
Renaissant des cendres,
D’une âme en sursis
L’illusion d’une félicité
Construit de mouvements
Répétitifs, tu as détecté
Dans l’obscurité, la Manne
Qui t’est tombé. La raison,
Le motif rationnel d’un plan
Hautement gardé. Tu t’est révélé
Une lumière habituellement
Cachée. Perçu et exposé la
Divinité parmi les tempêtes

De ta vie mouvementée


Will it ever end? Is there anywhere to hide? ” Food plan relapse ” 2010



Today is a relapse day.
Escaping from words of condemnation I prefer to hide behind anything that shields me from the reality of this moment.

Maybe a tree is wide enough.
They have existed for so long, have witnessed it all and are still standing tall and erect, nothing budging them, their gargantuan trunk, sturdy and comforting.

Maybe I should hide behind the reverie of an outside component bringing me to salvation,
or find assuagement behind excuses such as holidays, festivities, people, a country, finances…
Anything to push off, what should be accomplished today.

Is it that operose to adhere to the agenda and utilize the guidance at hand?
Is relapse actually a way of hurling a conniption in the face of existence?

Our overactive mind is hushed with the saying of the wise ( which I have mentioned before )
” Repetition is the only true form of permanence that nature can achieve ”

Well, that is a beginning.
Repetition is all we have achieved until now, but the other way round. Our energies were just badly channeled, all we have to do is ” repetition ” the right way this time.
It appears after all, that our wrangles are a result of our persistence in questioning life’s ( or God, if you will ) role in the realization of our endeavor.

Maybe we should hide less, think less and trust more.

That would simplify a mind in effervescence. Ideally, the highest state of grace would be, to do what is in front of us, at this precise moment every day of our lives.

Re-energized by those self-pep talks, I uproot those trees with a bulldozer, ( figuratively speaking of course ) destroy those outside factors, organize my holidays and birthdays with my sponsor, push in as many implements as possible, mark down in a book the keywords that will have the power to drag me out of my moroseness when needed and importune for the zeal to keep on doing so every moment of my recovery.