Original Title: "On fait l'homme"
Year: 1966
We think ourselves free when we only imitate. We play the man
We want in this huge and insipid antics
to read we do not know which pointless adventure
when simply all the ways lead to Rome
When each of our steps is writen beforehand
Look at the young people and what they drag along
The superstition clinging to their steps
like a dead branch and like to the bottom
of a dismasted boat, the song of the siren
against what nothing helps not even compass
Look at those young people. What pushes them
like that toward the sandbanks, the shallows?
They had after all nothing new but the sweet little face
Them who were swaggering earlier. They all go
where the childhood dreams fall apart in the end
God, look at yourselves, small ones, in the mirrors
You have the hair messy and the eye lost
You are ready to do everything: obey, kill, believe
People like you the century has its drawers full of
You are sold up by the bucketful and it's very well sold
You are the odd-job flesh; A sort of
common material, a low-cost brick
With you no need to pull one's punches
You are this food that the crows take away
And your dreams, the wolves make short work of them
All poems written by Louis Aragon
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