Le Synthédiseur, Synthé d\'Ici et d\'Ailleurs

This World is Yours

It’s raining on Damas

It’s Raining on Alep

It’s raining on Tripoli

It’s raining on Khartoum

It’s raining on Agadez

It’s raining on Aden

It’s raining on Mogadiscio

It’s raining on Kaboul

It is raining on my street, it is raining on the bell tower of my village

It is raining on the fifth avenue

It’s raining on freedom, it’s raining on humanity

Rather than swimming on the happiness, we navigate on the Horrors Sea.

The presidents are in the meeting room. They are discussing  about the tomorrow weather. They look delighted.

They advise us to carry boots and umbrella. For the rest, we have to continue to die silently. Silence,  they kill, the presidents are fed.

Their democracies are just mortal gadgets. 

Renunciations after renunciations,  resignations after resignations, they sank into a conglomerate of ethnic groups, worship and communities. Their nations are no more than an aggregate of uncoordinated peoples.

Mossoul, Raka, Tripoli, Alep and so many other disasters, Closed minds, dead souls, diabolic disembowelled markets under red skies.

Silence,  they kill, the presidents are fed.