The neurotic phrasing of the African dreamers,
Flies up to the sky
And suddenly intertwines,
Like the flight of swallows,
Watching from the corner of the wing for the malignant words
Of fraternal neighbors.
And from left and right, we embrace.
From this hubbub, from this incoherence then arises,
A direction, a compromise,
A strange journey, towards distant lands, towards the infinite,
Towards the desired Europe, this distant paradise.
The smoke of the morning vapors numbs them,
The hungry travellers on their way,
Here they are by hundreds, by thousands guided
By the hubbub of the neighbors, by an instinct of survival.
They fly away and in the sky no barriers
The air over there is very similar to the air here
It supports the wings, helps to dream, helps to live,
Helping to transhumance, here they go.
Their words that fly and clutter the skies,
Of all this suffering, of these pious dreams,
They don't want it anymore, they can't take it anymore.
The flight has worn out their last substance,
Then in the sky like a great fire,
The swallows blaze and sink into the ocean.
And the rhythmic words that once sustained them
Get lost in the depths, descend into the abyss,
And come back up contained in air bubbles
Which burst and release them
and explode in the sky.
The neurotic phrasing of the African dreamers is eternal.
P. Matile has travelled to many countries around the world and experienced firsthand the longing of the local population of these countries on the other side of the border to reach the European paradise.