Today is March 14. It would have been Salwa’s birthday had she still been (physically) among her loved ones; as per an earlier post shown further below. This is why Bambi will send her late aunt a loving wink while smiling to the skies.
Indeed, to highlight this meaningful day, she will borrow Grand Corps Malade‘s beautiful slam poem-song, which is entitled “Nos absents” [“Our absent ones”]. The original French lyrics follow the English translation (https://bit.ly/3mNwvpd). This post will end with the song, which is sub-titled in French.
May your memory keep on being eternal, Salwa ❤️. May God protect your descendants in Lebanon and in Brazil…
“The ghosts do not really exist, but their absence is so much strong that creates in us a presence which makes us weak, which supports us.
This is the absence of those we loved that creates an almost tangible void, because the love we had given to them now is an orphan who looks for a target.
For some of them we were aware of it, we had been prepared for the worst, but the other ones disappeared suddenly.
Without any advance warning.
We did not say goodbye, they had left without our permission.
Because death has its own reasons that our reason is unaware of.
Thus we are regrouped with an utopian comfort.
Several of us are stronger but not less sad.
It is in the solitude that we mourn for them, because when we are alone, we feel the effects.
We tame the pain and the presence of our absent ones.
Our absent ones are always there, in our mind and in our memories.
In the video of vacations, in these photos full of smiles.
Our absent ones surround us and remain by our sides. They come back to life in our dreams ,as if nothing has happened.
We are reassured by the suffering that pinch our neck, saying that wherever they are surely have less pain than us.
So we walk, we laugh, we sing.
But their shadows dwell.
In a corner of our brain.
In a corner of our happiness.
We have some projects, we plan our tomorrows.
We decide the way, we look at the future in our hands.
And in the heart of action, in our victories and our hells, time to time we imagine that our absent ones are watching what we are doing.
Every life is a miracle, but the end is annoying.
I am well informed, that we will not leave here alive.
Must learn to accept it for trying to grow old happily.
But every year our absent ones get a little more numerous.
Every new disappearance transform our hearts into lace.
But the time passes and the long lived pains become pastel.
For once the time is a true ally.
Every hour passes is an ointment, it will take thousands.
Me , the dead, the missing ones,
I do not speak much.
I write about them.
I tickle the taboo subjects.
This big mystery which waits for us,
Our ultimate point common to all.
The ghosts do not really exist, but their absence is so much strong that creates in us a presence which makes us weak, which supports us.
This is the absence of those we loved that creates an almost infinite void that inspire first degree texts.
Must say that death lacks irony“.
—
«C’est pas vraiment
des fantômes, mais leur absence est tellement forte
Qu’elle crée en nous une présence qui nous rend faible ou nous supporte
C’est ceux qu’on a aimé qui créaient un vide presque tangible
Car l’amour qu’on leur donnait est orphelin, il cherche une cible
Pour certains on le savait, on s’était préparé au pire
Mais d’autres ont disparu d’un seul coup, sans prévenir
On leur a pas dit au revoir, ils sont partis sans notre accord
Car la mort a ses raisons que notre raison ignore
Alors on s’est
regroupé d’un réconfort utopiste
À plusieurs on est plus fort mais on est pas moins triste
C’est seul qu’on fait son deuil, car on est seul quand on ressent
On apprivoise la douleur et la présence de nos absents
Nos absents sont toujours là, à l’esprit et dans nos souvenirs
Sur ce film de vacances, sur ces photos pleines de sourires
Nos absents nous entourent et resteront à nos côtés
Ils reprennent vie dans nos rêves, comme si de rien n’était
On se rassure face à
la souffrance qui nous serre le cou
En se disant que là où ils sont, ils ont sûrement moins mal que nous
Alors on marche, on rit, on chante mais leur ombre demeure
«Dans un coin de nos cerveaux, dans un coin de notre bonheur
Nous on a des projets, on dessine nos lendemains
On décide du chemin, on regarde l’avenir entre nos mains
Et au cœur de l’action, dans nos victoires ou nos enfers
On imagine de temps en temps que nos absents nous voient faire
Chaque vie est un
miracle mais le final est énervant
J’me suis bien renseigné, on en sortira pas vivant
Faut apprendre à l’accepter pour essayer de vieillir heureux
Mais chaque année nos absents sont un peu plus nombreux
Chaque nouvelle disparition transforme nos cœurs en dentelle
Mais le temps passe et les douleurs vives deviennent pastelles
Ce temps qui pour une fois est un véritable allié
Chaque heure passée est une pommade, il en faudra des milliers
Moi les morts, les disparus, je n’en parle pas beaucoup
Alors j’écris sur eux, je titille mes sujets tabous
Ce grand mystère qui nous attend, notre ultime point commun à tous
Qui fait qu’on court après la vie, sachant que la mort est à nos trousses
C’est pas vraiment des fantômes mais leur absence est tellement forte
Qu’elle crée en nous une présence qui nous rend faible ou nous supporte
C’est ceux qu’on a aimé qui créait un vide presque infini
Qu’inpirent des textes premier degré, faut dire que la mort manque d’ironie»
—
Salwaty like i used to call her ❤❤❤❤ she s sooo missed
Bambi’s heart goes to you Rana ?. “Salwaty” is sooo beautiful as it has a double meaning: your Salwa and your joy/entertainment (if Arabic is well recalled). Take good care, please.