{"id":24384,"date":"2023-03-14T00:11:06","date_gmt":"2023-03-14T03:11:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bambisafkar.ca\/?p=24384"},"modified":"2023-03-14T00:11:06","modified_gmt":"2023-03-14T03:11:06","slug":"a-wink-to-salwa-in-heaven","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bambisafkar.ca\/index.php\/2023\/03\/14\/a-wink-to-salwa-in-heaven\/","title":{"rendered":"A wink to Salwa in heaven!"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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“Amto” [Aunty] Salwa, may your memory be eternal… always and especially on your birthday<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

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. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Indeed, to highlight this meaningful day, she will borrow Grand Corps Malade<\/em>‘s beautiful slam poem-song, which is entitled “Nos absents<\/em>” [“Our absent ones”<\/em>]. The original French lyrics follow the English translation (https:\/\/bit.ly\/3mNwvpd<\/a>). This post will end with the song, which is sub-titled in French. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

May your memory keep on being eternal, Salwa \u2764\ufe0f. May God protect your descendants in Lebanon and in Brazil… <\/p>\n\n\n\n

“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<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For some of them we were aware of it, we had been prepared for the worst, but the other ones disappeared suddenly<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Without any advance warning<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We did not say goodbye, they had left without our permission.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because death has its own reasons that our reason is unaware of<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thus we are regrouped with an utopian comfort<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Several of us are stronger but not less sad<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is in the solitude that we mourn for them, because when we are alone, we feel the effects<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We tame the pain and the presence of our absent ones<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our absent ones are always there, in our mind and in our memories<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the video of vacations, in these photos full of smiles<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our absent ones surround us and remain by our sides. They come back to life in our dreams ,as if nothing has happened<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We are reassured by the suffering that pinch our neck, saying that wherever they are surely have less pain than us<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So we walk, we laugh, we sing<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But their shadows dwell<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In a corner of our brain<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In a corner of our happiness<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We have some projects, we plan our tomorrows<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We decide the way, we look at the future in our hands<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Every life is a miracle, but the end is annoying<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I am well informed, that we will not leave here alive<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Must learn to accept it for trying to grow old happily<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But every year our absent ones get a little more numerous<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Every new disappearance transform our hearts into lace<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But the time passes and the long lived pains become pastel<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For once the time is a true ally<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Every hour passes is an ointment, it will take thousands<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Me , the dead, the missing ones,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I do not speak much<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I write about them<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I tickle the taboo subjects<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This big mystery which waits for us,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our ultimate point common to all<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This is the absence of those we loved that creates an almost infinite void that inspire first degree texts<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Must say that death lacks irony<\/em>“.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

—<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00abC’est pas vraiment\ndes fant\u00f4mes, mais leur absence est tellement forte
\nQu’elle cr\u00e9e en nous une pr\u00e9sence qui nous rend faible ou nous supporte
\nC’est ceux qu’on a aim\u00e9 qui cr\u00e9aient un vide presque tangible
\nCar l’amour qu’on leur donnait est orphelin, il cherche une cible
\nPour certains on le savait, on s’\u00e9tait pr\u00e9par\u00e9 au pire
\nMais d’autres ont disparu d’un seul coup, sans pr\u00e9venir
\nOn leur a pas dit au revoir, ils sont partis sans notre accord
\nCar la mort a ses raisons que notre raison ignore<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Alors on s’est\nregroup\u00e9 d’un r\u00e9confort utopiste
\n\u00c0 plusieurs on est plus fort mais on est pas moins triste
\nC’est seul qu’on fait son deuil, car on est seul quand on ressent
\nOn apprivoise la douleur et la pr\u00e9sence de nos absents
\nNos absents sont toujours l\u00e0, \u00e0 l’esprit et dans nos souvenirs
\nSur ce film de vacances, sur ces photos pleines de sourires
\nNos absents nous entourent et resteront \u00e0 nos c\u00f4t\u00e9s
\nIls reprennent vie dans nos r\u00eaves, comme si de rien n’\u00e9tait<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

On se rassure face \u00e0\nla souffrance qui nous serre le cou
\nEn se disant que l\u00e0 o\u00f9 ils sont, ils ont s\u00fbrement moins mal que nous
\nAlors on marche, on rit, on chante mais leur ombre demeure
\n\u00abDans un coin de nos cerveaux, dans un coin de notre bonheur
\nNous on a des projets, on dessine nos lendemains
\nOn d\u00e9cide du chemin, on regarde l’avenir entre nos mains
\nEt au c\u0153ur de l’action, dans nos victoires ou nos enfers
\nOn imagine de temps en temps que nos absents nous voient faire<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chaque vie est un\nmiracle mais le final est \u00e9nervant
\nJ’me suis bien renseign\u00e9, on en sortira pas vivant
\nFaut apprendre \u00e0 l’accepter pour essayer de vieillir heureux
\nMais chaque ann\u00e9e nos absents sont un peu plus nombreux
\nChaque nouvelle disparition transforme nos c\u0153urs en dentelle
\nMais le temps passe et les douleurs vives deviennent pastelles
\nCe temps qui pour une fois est un v\u00e9ritable alli\u00e9
\nChaque heure pass\u00e9e est une pommade, il en faudra des milliers<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Moi les morts, les disparus, je n’en parle pas beaucoup
Alors j’\u00e9cris sur eux, je titille mes sujets tabous
Ce grand myst\u00e8re qui nous attend, notre ultime point commun \u00e0 tous
Qui fait qu’on court apr\u00e8s la vie, sachant que la mort est \u00e0 nos trousses
C’est pas vraiment des fant\u00f4mes mais leur absence est tellement forte
Qu’elle cr\u00e9e en nous une pr\u00e9sence qui nous rend faible ou nous supporte
C’est ceux qu’on a aim\u00e9 qui cr\u00e9ait un vide presque infini
Qu’inpirent des textes premier degr\u00e9, faut dire que la mort manque d’ironie\u00bb<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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