30 août 2007

La mallette était brune

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À coup de pourquoi


L’ombre essaie de ressembler
À celui qu’elle accompagne,
Mais c’est toujours à refaire,
Toujours à recommencer.
Métier d’ombre, métier d’ombre,
C’est un vrai métier de chien,
On s’échine, se déchire,
Se fatigue, se détruit.
Métier d’ombre, route d’ombre,
La vie est dure à gagner.

Si contente était mon ombre
De marcher au bord de mer.
Mais quand je plonge dans l’eau
Elle est perdue aussitôt,
Elle se débat et pleure
Comme un enfant égaré.
Reviens, reviens sur le sable,
Me crie mon ombre fidèle,
Reviens vite à mes côtés,
Ne me laisse jamais seule.

Elle est plus faible que moi,
Elle se perd en chemin,
Elle s’accroche aux buissons
Perdant ses flocons de laine,
Et s’écorche les genoux,
Et se noie dans les ruisseaux
Grelottant le soir venu,
Redoutant les nuages gris,
Métier d’ombre, chemin d’ombre,
Mon ombre est bien fatiguée.

(Claude Roy, Poésies)
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1 commentaire:

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