"Once upon a time there was a Little Prince
who lived on a planet scarcely any bigger
than himself and who needed a friend..."


How many of the grown-ups of today remember having read and understood and loved the story of the Little Prince, that
delicate present made to all of us by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry?
My wish, when I wrote, was to make you remember the story, thus putting into the small of your grown-up's hand a seed eager to yield.
You do not have to take special care of it. All you have to do is to believe that the seed can grow in you as well as in the others around you.
Please let the seed grow and remember the story:
"The stars are not the same for all the people.
For some, who are travelling the stars are their guides.
For others, they are nothing but little lights.
For the scientists they are problems.
But for all of them the stars are silent.
It is only for you that the stars will be as for no one else...
At night, when looking at the sky, you will see the star where I am living. You will know that I am laughing and all the stars will laugh for you. Only you will hear the stars' laugh !
And when your sorrow passes by (time always soothes the sorrow) you will be happy that you have met me. You will always be my friend. You will long for laughing with me. And you will sometimes open your window just for that pleasure...And your friends will be astonished to see you laughing as you look up at the sky! Then you will say to them : "Yes, the stars always make me laugh!"And they will think you are crazy.It will be a trick that I have played on you. It will be as if, instead of the
stars,I had given you a lot of small bells that knew how to laugh"

Let our own small bells join the bells of the Little Prince.
Don't forget sometimes to look up at the sky and to laugh
together with the stars!

"SEND ME WORD THAT HE HAS COME BACK"

Dear Antoine,
I’m writing to you now,
As you have asked,
To tell that he is back.
Not in the same place,
Not under the same star,
But Little Prince showed up again,
On Earth he has made his own pass :
He is living here, in the East
With Don Quijote and with us.
He's not changed at all,
Same golden hair, same scarf around his neck,
Asking and never answering when he is asked,
And laughing, that laugh,
You surely remember what I tell:
A laugh like in the desert a deep well.

It seems he came to us five years ago,
But the time flies, you must already know
(And what's five years
after having waited so long?)
He was in the streets
Brother to our dear children
A flower in his hand
Brave as you know him
Defying the killing shot-guns from behind,
Ignoring that they were at war,
Forgetting some rule of mankind:
"Straight ahead nobody is allowed to go too far..."
Now,only his flower is still growing up
Right on that terrible place of the city
Nearby the Cross, next to the University.

At first, only few understood.
It took us quite a time
Until we met again in the streets
Looking at the stars
And trying to forgive the lie,
Just laughing together under the same sky.
Now, there are many of us
Lightening windows in the night
And laughing, laughing a lot,
Being sure that our laugh is heard
By Little Prince and by Don Quijote.



"IF YOU PLEASE...DRAW ME A SHEEP"

Here is the meadow
Here is the stream
The flowers, the Sun and the wheat
Here the mole made its ugly heap.

Over there, as well, the people, the friends, us
We put a strong wall to our loneliness.
Not underground, but in the open
We build from broken pieces our fortress:
First, the separating layer of words -
Loose, whistling and rude.
Then, the ear drum, growing thicker
By the heavy noise bursting around.
The look - obscure, falling inside from the peak,
The smell - getting numb by the reek,
The skin - only a breaking and dusty sheet,
The taste - of bones and blood,
All the rest left behind and buried in the mud.

Here is the meadow
Here is the stream
The flower, the Sun and the wheat.
Here we have deserted ourselves.
Please break down the fortress
The sheep I am longing for
Must be freed from inside.



"SIRE... WHO YOUR SUBJECTS ARE?"

You know, the baobab seeds
Can live inside you.
And the drunkard
Who drinks to forget
How drunk he is
Can live just on your tongue
In one of your papillae.
The businessman who, counting each star,
Forgets how beautiful stars are
May be hidden in the finger
Of your hand, left or right
(Depending with which hand you write).
If you are lucky enough
The lamplighter, by the orders he must abide
Can enlighten you from inside.
The conceited man for sure you can find
Somewhere in your occipital lobe,
Never completely astonished, never dumb.
The geographer you can feel
When mountains seem to fall apart
And when incertitude destroys your every start.
The flower for which you can kill
(Even though only caterpillars),
The thought-snake, making you silent
Or letting you go away, too lonely if you are,
The fox - nice friend after being tamed -
Longing for the sight of the golden wheat,
All these you can find in yourself.
Just look up at the stars and deep inside!
Can you feel it ? You are so many,
You are so many!
All these are in you and not so far.
Sire...can't you see who your subjects are?


"WHAT DOES THAT MEAN - TO ADMIRE ?"

She just passed through
Leaving undefined traces
In the dust of the lane
Trembling and bright.

Under the Moon light,
Near by the birch-tree,
The last Unicorn-she
Just passed by,
Watching the sparkle of her hoof,
Feeling unique and blessed
Under the world roof.
The last Unicorn-she
Listening to the memories' fight.

Crescent of the Moon,
Horn of the Unicorn -
Twins of the same night.

Next morning
At the edge of the lane,
Feeling humble and vane,
No Moon above, no horn,
And memories not even born,
Just a horse in the light.




"YOU CAN NOT PLUCK THE STARS FROM HEAVEN"


No mountains,
No stars,
No words
We inherit
But the tender
Love for them
Taught to us
By our parents.
Sons of the sons
Through our sons
We may keep in place
This inherited love
For the whole Universe.
The sap of the Earth
Runs into us,
Branches to flowers give birth
Flowers to fruits
Fruits to seeds.
Only fed with great love
A seed deeply buried
Can ever become again seed.
Down in the well
Water reflects
Face after face.
Glossing its lips
We sit around
And then elapse.
We inherit no mountains
No stars and no words.
It isn't important
How rich we have been
Or how wise.
The love we can give
Is the only legacy to prize.



"DID THE ORDERS CHANGE?"

All is in us and we are in all
And God blesses us with His love.
Why should we cower in the hollow
And hide ourselves in the sorrow ?


Passengers of the Universe
Our meanings, words and thoughts
Are crossing space and time eternally
Searching for what is right and good and holy.
The planets turning for us or just in vain
Are drops of mud and gold
Under the heavy heat or in the cold
Condensed on divinity grains.
Just alike : the human, the star and the God
Antoine and Little Prince and Don Quijote.

We are in the middle of every single look
Writing, hand after hand, the same book.



"WHAT DOES THAT MEAN EPHEMERAL?"

You have to know
That I'm only an oasis
Forrest - rising in your thoughts
Too soon.

I have to know
That you're only an oasis
Wave - invading my desert
Too late.

We both have to know
That we're only oasis
Matching forrest and wave
And thoughts in the desert
Somewhere, sometime, somehow
Between too soon and too late
Now.



"WHAT DOES THAT MEAN TO TAME?"

I am thinking of my enemy and of my mother.
What secret tights them to exist
At the same time in me, so deeply mixed ?
She is caressing my hair and forehead
Whilst he is burning my cheek.
On my face, in my thought,
Even they do ignore each other,
They live closely together
Under my left shoulder.
The love of my mother
Gives birth to my strength
To keep an eye on my enemy.
The hate of my enemy
Gives me a good push
To go on the right way
As it is my dear mother's wish.

The wind in the wheat
Caresses my hair and my forehead
As my mother does so well.
The wind in the wheat
Burns my cheek
As the hand of my enemy
When he is hectic.
They both come in my night -
My gentle mum and my feared enemy.
Same bed clothe, same moon light
Yet such a different chemistry :
My mother caresses my cheek,
My enemy burns my hair and my forehead
Until the moment when, being no more weak,
Who is who I can hardly feel :
Neither of them can reach me now,
Neither possess me as it would be their will.

Hidden in the night,
My every syllable is a perpetual leave
(In me the words burn and caress)
I talk to my enemy as I talk to my mother:
"To love, to understand, to be forgiven, to forgive"
Hesitating between the wish to remember
And the wise need to forget, all the same,
"To love, to understand, to be forgiven, to forgive
To be tamed and to tame..."



"FINDING IS SEARCHING WITH YOUR HEART"

The water travels since always
Gathering all the tears ever cried
And all the clouds ever rained.
Down there, in the depth,
Strange alchemy follows,
Melting space and time
And the eyes of ancestors with stars.
Wonderful this water, which carries along
The good and the evil, the weak and the strong,
Mixed in a clear and magic fluid,
Travelling deep into the Earth
Dried, thirsty, diverse.

If you feel lonely and tired
Wish for yourself to find a well
Search it with care and calm
Imagine you stop nearby:
First, pour water in your hand,
Then sip it from your palm.
How good is this water awaited so long
How sweet is each drop
And how pure its song.
Same Sun, same thirst and same Moon
Have been reflected also in my well,
We have drunk the same water, dear traveller,
Even though we didn't stop
Near by the same well.
(The water we have been baptized in
Is for all of us the same).

Everywhere, out of the mysterious fluid
Wells can be awaked.
We have not only to be very thirsty but
To let the silver pulley of the well
Sing in the rhythm of our heart.