Tomorrow, My Island

Tomorrow, my island Tomorrow,

In the hourglass of time,

A strand In hand,

handful of debris, of marine polyps

My beach, its beauty,

A gift of the ages and wise

Its sand slips through the hands,

At the yards

To bring development

To the tastes of new people

Separating rich and non-rich,

Like flocks The sun already discriminates,

For one, a skin bath

From the other, snatched by cruelty

And hard work the tunic of his body, his skin

My island, in the ocean,

your beauty is immensely, unique

But the money dictates, tests, rises, and catches

And erect, for the elders, gates

That only the non-poor escape

Speaking of a rise,

the weather forecasts

Dark times, to whom,

We will be used as prey

We're already falling apart

on what we owe

Threaten with pressure,

We are there for everything, to save

His job

And become, odious and chatwa

And what more and controversies

That ethnic criteria

To integrate the demagogic herachia,

Formerly qualified, democratic?

The future, uncertain

The same songs and refrains

Because today will always remain

The day after the yesterday

Now we've had enough

In the name of dynamic progress

Aquatic pollution

Drastic climate change

Despite the profit, economic

Skin your beauty, your physique

Do people have aphasic memory?

I don't blame them in any way

Nor do I call them fools

Everyone already has their burden,

His pain and his music

Heat: stress that bites

The wave of addiction is raging:

The famous chemical

Because in the lead, we evolve

In chaotic mode

Although it's not made

My being is heavily taxed

We try to put out the fire of our hunger

By the cents, rest of our money

My island, my homeland

Does the creator have optical problems?

Does he not see our sorrows and panics?

Insecurity breeds phobic moments

Towards his neighbor,

Previously, a similar, human

Mauritius, always, pearl of the tropics

Work of a poetic and artistic being

Strangers, see you angelic

Exquisite and exotic

But yours, the amnesiac memory

Faults of slanderous suffering

Nothing good, nothing funny

A handful of sand that

I let slide In front of the new property

From a rich expatriate

Its lands, facing the sea

Sealed paths

Above all, do not pass

A decorative hourglass containing

The grins of marine polyps

To my descendants, I leave them, I

In inherited, grant them