Shame, Poem by Arthur Rimbaud

As long as the blade has not
Cut through this brain,
This white, green and fat bundle,
With its never-new vapor,

(Ah! He should cut off his
Nose, his lip, his ears,
His belly! and make abandonment
Of his legs! O marvel!)

But no; truly, I believe that as long
As for his head the blade,
As the stones for his flank,
As for his guts the flame,

Will not have acted, the child
Botherer, the so stupid beast,
Must not cease for an instant
To be cunning and to be treacherous,

Like a cat from the Rocky Mountains,
To stink up all spheres!
May at his death, however, O my God!
Some prayer rise up!

Arthur Rimbaud

Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.

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