“the thick stream of air hauled toward the summits first the great horses of noise reared against the sky then sluggishly the… — Aimé Césaire Copy Share Image
“like the scorpion's question mark drawn in the pollen on the canvas of the sky and of our brains at midnight” — Aimé Césaire Copy Share Image
“the forest remembers that the last word can only be the flaming cry of the bird of ruins in the bowl of… — Aimé Césaire Copy Share Image
“your face like a village asleep at the bottom of a lake which is reborn to daylight from the grass and from… — Aimé Césaire Copy Share Image
“measured by the clock click of the serpent-minute the explosion after which it is proper to appreciate that the brutal fist of… — Aimé Césaire Copy Share Image
