by MICHEL HOUELLEBECQ
Desperate on the highway,
I was losing count of the dead.
They announced a detour
Along the northern frontier.
We should have defended ourselves
Without knowing from whom or from what,
Without knowing for whom or why,
Or else we should have surrendered
And improbable survivors
Slipped into the rearview mirror,
The world was covered in sand
And the nights were filled with our fears.
We should have defended ourselves
Without knowing from whom or from what,
Without knowing for whom or why
The sky seems ready to split apart,
A sun of shifting colors
Hovers over a dull horizon
While each one prostrates themselves
Before what has appeared, the admirable.
A poem from Combat toujours perdant by Michel Houellebecq, éditions Flammarion, Paris, 2026, copyright Michel Houellebecq and Éditions Flammarion, translated from the french