For fake is not just a word

For Fake is not just a word

But a red lipstick

On a lady’s lip

Kiss!

Black mascara on her eyes,

Bit of powder on the cheeks

To cover her griefs.

For Fake is not just written

But seen from far

Fully rounded

Like the belly of 

Mr. President

Touch! 

Before it explodes.

Fake is also felt

In a One Million scented lover

Smell!

Faker than

the plastic flowers

He brings.

By Jahooli Devi

Pour toi Mon Amour ( For you My Love )

Pour Toi Mon Amour 

par Jacques Prévert

Je suis allé au marché aux oiseaux
Et j’ai acheté des oiseaux
Pour toi
Mon amour

I went to the bird market

And I bought birds

For you

My Love

Je suis allé au marché aux fleurs

Et j’ai acheté des fleurs
Pour toi
Mon amour

I went to the flower market

And I bought  flowers

For you

My Love

Je suis allé au marché à la ferraille
Et j’ai acheté des chaînes
De lourdes chaînes
Pour toi
Mon amour

I went to the metal market

And I bought chains

Very heavy chains

For you

My Love

Et je suis allé au marché aux esclaves
Et je t’ai cherchée
Mais je ne t’ai pas trouvée
Mon amour

Then I went to the slave market

And I searched for you

But, I could not find 

You

My Love

Translated by Jahooli Devi

Happiness

I find it everywhere, happiness, that jewel many cannot find, that many search in vain.

It's there, a coconut from Sri Lanka lying on a sad looking exotic fruit corner in the super market priced at 1 euro.

Its there, a huge box of Ceylan tea in another corner waiting majestically to be picked up by a delicate hand.

It's there, a sack full of orange Dhal found in a dangerous open air Arabian market, a place not dared by any french feet.

It's there, the smell of spices, cinnamon or curry powder, bottled up nicely,  inhaled by a thirsty nose.

Oh, the list is not over.

It's there , the scorching provincial sun, which makes me red & sweat, yet in a sweet way.

It's there, butterflies & bees who visit our flowery garden in search of me! Do they?

It's there, the so green wild grass which grow like the hair on my legs, so excited, out of control.Yes, I like them.

It's there, the calmness of sea at Niolon, the saltiness in the air, the sailing boats waiting patiently.

Oh, the list is not over.

It's there, an empty bottle of Compote d'abricots, biologique et authentique rest among the precious on my study table.

It's there, a ten digit number, which appears on the phone randomly or a short voice message well protected.

It's there, a passionate kiss by a soft spoken , rough , mysterious man with sweet pink lips, so contrasting!

It's there, finally, my life itself which I am blessed with, No where else, so stopped I searching.

By Jahooli Devi

To My Love

You are the Melon & Cacahuète,

flavours contrasting

stored in the deep corners

in the ice cream shop

which I devour greedily & hastily

You are the cold side

of my pillow

smooth & gentle

which my young shrivelled hands 

search for comfort

later on at night, the small feet

You are the colourless drops that fills

in the corners of my eyes

for no reason

when the heart is empty

when the mind goes astray

which I smell

to find its name

but not daring

to taste...

You are the polite man

with diamond eyes

rosy lips, cheeks, nose & ears

who sat infront of me

wearing a blue pull over

at the small restaurant of Cerises sur le Gateau

where I ate from my eyes, widely opened

as the mouth kept jabbering

I love you like a Man

with the courage of the heart

with flowers on the hand

running across the city

to catch last minute trains

just to sit by the side, silently....

I love you like a Child,

with a fragile soft heart

pointing at the toy cart

dancing around, ruthlessly

screaming violently

just to get attention, cunningly...

I love you like a Mother

with the caring of the heart

gazing in to far far horizon

waiting patiently with deep tight sighs

till the arrival of her beloved son,

just to give a hug, dearly...

By Jahooli Devi