The Parade

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Air filled with sound and smell,
the sacrificial smoke,
sandalwood, frankincense, styrax -
feed on it as if it was ambrosia.

The slow chanting,
rhythmic and deep, alien-sounding,
shutters soul and shutters heart
into a doomed trance.

Thus the parade moves forward
through the streets of the city.

Poetry IOù les histoires vivent. Découvrez maintenant