Yes, I do not conceal it from you
I say it: Im scared!
Of all anthems you sing
Elixirs vomited noisily
Im scared of your flags
cracking in the wind of your madness
To you I confess my fear
Im scared of your erected tents
Sparse in the flowered gardens
Im scared of your adult games
In the pedestrian corridors
I know that one day
You will shoot me!
Yes, I confess my fear
Im scared of your gloved hands
Hiding numerous cactus
Im scared when a child
Claims for life in his cold cradle
Im scared when he shows ecstasy
I know that one day
You will shoot him!
Adamou Ide was born in Niamey, Niger on November 22, 1951. Poet and novelist, president of the Societé des Gens du Lettres du Níger, Society of writers and men of culture. He received the National Poetry Prize in 1981. He has published the books of poetry: Unfinished
Cry (1984) and On the Land of Silence (1994); and collectively Ay
Ne Han (2004). His published prose is: Straw Camisole, 1987; Talibo,
A Child of the District, 1996 and Wa Sappé Ay Se! (Vote for Me!), 2003; He he will soon publish Mothers Song for a Sick Son, poetry and Cockroach Man; short stories. This is what he says about his beginning in poetry:
From my very inside, an acute feeling of injustice and bitter revolt emerged I think I have not tried to understand
and I have cried: it was the voice of poetry! It became a weapon and a tribune for protest and denunciation. I claim for liberty, solidarity, brotherhood among men and I think that in every man there is a poet: But I also feel that poets are feared by those in power that use violence, who are prosperous at the expense of the collective suffering. When they are denounced, some poets are imprisoned, tortured, killed or exiled as if this was enough to kill the power of the word in them. The poets continue paying a harsh tribute for their liberty of thought. Again, poetry appears as the last bastion for the struggle for liberty! In these times, some powerful men of this world believe they are able to enslave others by means of unilateral thought, unfair economical laws, unjust wars and they want poets to speak in one way or another. Now, more than ever, we need poetry and poets committed to the struggle for peace, justice and tolerance! Lullaby poetry is intended for making children sleep, meanwhile bombs fall and destroy their legs: I have never believed in this kind of colorless and odorless poetry. I believe in words that name suffering and that wake up hope in open furrows by misery and tears. The poetic writing has allowed me to live an incredible adventure. An always-new adventure in a mysterious world of words. In the poem one feels that the agitated life of the words is being written, that they heap together to find a place in the verse, they hug each other to create rhythm, to provoke or stimulate the readers senses, and one never knows when the poem is finished or if its the poet that being tired has put down the weapons. But what is the matter if the poem is there and sings before you the real love and liberty!...