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Il y a un bidonville...

Il y a un bidonville
dans un petit quartier
de mon esprit.

Ici,
je cherche un petit
fragment
de ma mémoire.

I search and I remember.
It comes easily to me.
Time has passed:
Hope is lost...
Hope is at hand...

Je ne vais pas vous oublier,
Haïti.

______________________________
Accept my apologies if my French is poor. I am trying hard to improve it with the help of a Rwandan friend in Kigali. The word 'bidonville' (shantytown - literally 'tin-town') was first taught to me by my mother shortly before I visited Rwanda this year. The poem is really me taking a short walk and expressing, in a veiled way, the frustrating fact that we seldom hear any updates from Haiti following the earthquake there earlier this year.

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