The Cathar knights

Gently weep

On the edge of the highway

When the dusk falls,

As a last insult

As a last torment,

In the middle of the tumult

In concrete dress.

 

Cars’ smoke,

Children’s pebbles,

Eyes on the fields of torture

And trash cans in front,

Someone from south of theLoire

Must have drawn the plans;

He forgot bloodstains.

On the dress.

 

We sculpted them in stone

Which had broke their body,

The face in the dust

Of their ancient treasure;

On the big light panel

Also told their death.

The Cathar knights

Still think of it.

 

Not displeasing to those who decide

Of past and present

They only have seven centuries of history

They are always alive.

I still hear the noise of weapons,

And I still often see

Flames licking walls

And huge killing fields.

The Cathar knights

Gently weep

 

On the edge of the highway

When the dusk falls,

As a last insult

As a last torment,

In the middle of the tumult

In concrete dress.