A dual-language poem by Patrick Sylvain.
Heaven
I have interviewed the dead. Dumbfounded.
They wanted to go to heaven, but Saint Peter
blocked their paths for not having shoes.
They were the shoemakers. They were gate
builders. Now, they are buried in unmarked graves
and lain face down in order not to see the pearls,
and the golden chariots of the angels, well-fed.
Paradi Selès
Mwen te entèvyouwe mò yo. Etoudi.
Yo te vle ale nan syèl, men Sen Pyè bare
wout yo poutèt yo pa te gen soulye.
Yomenm ki te kòdonye. Yomenm ki te
konstri pòtay. Kounye a, yo antere nan tonm anonim
epi kouche fas atè pou yo pa wè bèl kolye pèl,
ak charyo an lò zanj yo ki vrèman byen nouri.
Author’s Note
The translation is in Haitian (or, Haitian Creole). I write in English and in Haitian. My goal is to show that Haitian is the lingua franca of Haiti, and it must be valorized (more so than French, which is the language power).