Ocean, net of happinesses and shared
sorrows, I languished of your charm. A week ago when I will not join you to confess
you my
sorrows and my joys, my torments and my passions. You drown my sorrows and me envelopes of your softness, without never missing with go. It was one of these days which gives desire for going on sand, as if the evening were going to fall very late. One afternoon of autumn, where breath breeze to deafen you, where the hair mixes with the blowing ones, per hour when the naked feet in sand are frozen by the sharp blade of the last wave which dies, at this point in time a print of foot appeared revealing to me, of an obviousness such as the breeze gives again life with the veils but which grows blurred at once... This print on sand, print of the
ground, EM-preinte so quickly unobtrusive and yet indelible in my heart, ground of Africa, Africa of my childhood. This day there, these some steps at the edge of the sea, this sea, secrecy of deep silence, a dark and quiet mood; I loosened my bonds, the close friend started from my heart released myself. The tightened heart, of the hot tears ran on cheeks dew, swept by untamed winds. If the history of the Earth sommeille in each course and each ocean, mine started on this beach of the south-west of France, with more than two hundred miles of the African continent.