À l’heure du tout à l’image et du buzz sans suite, «l’express» souhaite faire découvrir la plume de poètes, de chanteurs, d’écrivains et de tous ceux qui jettent leur âme sur le papier, et qui mettent en mots des réflexions profondes.

Why breathe when there is nothing left to give

Why live when there is nothing right to do

Why die if there is always more to take

Why lie if you’ve forgotten what you can’t undo

Why care when there are no more friends to hurt

Why love when each heartbeat fuels envy

Why suffer if the pain will never really heal

Why hate if you can only pretend to love

Under the wobbly dining table

Seven times we called thy name

Cosmic order colliding with the stable

Chaos of deceit in a pathetic game of blame

Hail, the free spirit prodigal son!

Cursed for escaping this posh prison

Shards of tears flood my eyes

Dissecting the dissonant barren lies

Eerie faces hog the high table

No one seems to smell the beast

Sacred rituals, a Phoenician bloodbath for Baal

While wild hogs, like raucous hosts, feast!

A sanctimonious pit, deep and obscure

Hides the raging inferno that lights

Mirthless smiles to entertain and lure

While frantic laughters soothe my nights

What good are forty more years?

For I blew the yesteryears

Chasing hallows in the shadows

Finding lust at the gallows

Staring through my secret window

A blood-curdling mirror of sorrow

Preppy faces pass me by

Empty spaces kiss me goodbye

Happy sunshine

Pouring down

Bloody moonshine

Flowing ‘til dawn

Beguiling spurs

Proud splendour

Drown me years

Long lost treasure

Pristine smile

Secret fears

Dry the Nile

Allure me tears

Good daze

Little sun rays

Mood haze

Much a maze

Duh!

After the sour

Comes the bitter

My sweetest hour

Much like the solace of dark matter

Preludes the requiem of happily ever after

One last breath in this quagmire

At last, thunder’s deafening call

‘Neath the purple haze’s midnight attire

Unleashing its roaring fireball

For silence has never been so dire

The trust I seek, night-crawling on my dark horse

Sweating cold in a shroud of burning desire

‘Til the shadows crawl into my empty lighthouse

Bring me to life on its ledge, lift me higher

I am alight, I am a light, I am light!

June 1, 2026

Bio

Wash

Épicurien amoureux de linguistique, de poésie, de philosophie, de l’océan et des jardins botaniques, ses inspirations, il les puise du vécu. Mauricien jusqu’à la moelle, il vit son mauricianisme à fond.