Life of Men

A heart may never heal
No cure, no remedy.
A soul will never steal
Too pure, too free.

A body shunned to the moors,
Cracks suffocated in time.
A mind of thumping hooves,
From cradle to mountain-climb.

Space and time, divide us all
Splitting us into pieces like alcohol
Warm and happy evade us all
Weak Puppets who crawl and bawl

Feeling dull
Pace by pace, it’s a race!
And at the end: death awaits,
Looks and speaks: “closed case”.

By Issa Dioume , France