Aimé Césaire Quote

At the end of dawn, the city—flat,
sprawled, tripped up by its common sense, inert,
winded under the geometric weight of its eternally
renewed cross, at odds with its fate, mute, baffled,
unable to circulate the pith of this ground, embarrassed,
lopped, reduced, cut off from fauna and flora.

Notebook of a Return to My Native Land