The Light Seed Project

The Shepherd and the Lamb

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What do I love about you?
What attracts me to you?

To understand you without analysis
The privilege of contemplating your virginal simplicity
Of receiving the gift your offer me
In your own original way
So gentle and courageous
So tender and generous

The door you left ajar In response to a confession
Barely whispered in the intimacy
From a boudoir of virtual traffic
In the mountains of Western Tennessee.

An alcove without partitions. The walls have no ears
In the slumbering kingdom
Of lucid dreams
Borrowing their flight
From the caressing wings of your lips.

Tenderly waking up this heart
Dead from having beaten too fast,
Too long,
For the wrong reasons.

Reason is often deceiving
Remaining a willing captive
Of emotional slave traders
Purveying their sly and soft wares
To the highest bidders.

But love pure and true
Only has its seasons
And no need to surrender,
To be bought or sold.

It is He, Jesus the Lord of grace and mercy
The One who sets the captives free,
Who opens wide the gates
Of servitude for the oppressed multitude
Weary of the yoke
That they themselves forged
Holding out their fragile necks,
Lowering their gaze under the arrogance
Of their chosen master.

At a decisive moment in time
They elected to lift up
Their gaze up to the heavens
To humbly welcome the message
Long since proclaimed
Eternal source of unique truth,
The only remedy for a dying humanity.

You my sister, my forever friend
And my love reborn with yours
At the dawn of each day,
You have seen it,
This dear liberty.
You tasted it, guiding your life
It filled with a wise measure.

This infinite that is ours
Promised In a future
ever so present
In your beautiful soul without borders,
Discovered and surveyed only
By the light of previous steps
With no need of a furtive glance
Over the way already treaded
In the kingdom of shadows.

No need to disrobe
When the pure heart is exposed
Under the protective eye
Of your equal in reflection
On the shimmering surface
Of your depth inaccessible
To zealous navigators
spreading their lust
In the hollow of their low tide
Where an ever receding flux
Of useless foam accumulates.

Only balanced souls
Can afford to scour to their liking
The domain of superlatives
Without needing to admit
The weakness of appearing extreme
In the eyes of blind men
Falling into the alluring trap
Of an insipid mediocrity.

All this you taught me
With your softness and patience
Facing my erudite ignorance
You calmed my unrestrained élan
And my passionate impulses.
This lion that I fancied myself to be
You tamed and fed him
In the hollow of your hand trained
To bless and nurture,
You, faithful child
Of God´s sacrificed lamb. _____________________________________

French original translated to English in 2008 by Jean Louis Mondon. Visual Art by ChatGPT. Musical Arrangement by SUNO AI music in 2026.

Is Antoine Boyer The World's Greatest Guitarist?

Sur les Bords du Rhumel

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Traduction: Jean Louis Mondon

Oh, voyageur, où vas-tu?Tu pars fatiguè et tu reviendras le même.
Combien sont revenus de l´exil?
Combien de larmes ont coulé?

Ya rayah win msafar trouh taaya w twalli
Ch’hal nadmou lghorba, ch’hal dhmaou sabouli
Ya rayah win msafar trouh taaya w twalli
Ch’hal nadmou lghorba, ch’hal dhmaou sabouli

Roh w’khalli bladi, roh w’khalli ahbabi
El ghorba tes’hil aalik, walakin el gharam ma yensak
Roh w’khalli bladi, roh w’khalli ahbabi
El ghorba tes’hil aalik, walakin el gharam ma yensak

Pars, laisse ta terre, laisse tes amours,
L’exil paraît facile, mais il brise toujours.
Constantine dans mon cœur, je t’entends encore,
Le pont suspendu, et le vent sur les bords.

Mais à la fin du chemin, le Rhumel m´appelle
Ses flots coulent comme la nostalgie dans mon coeur.
Entre rives et courants, je rencontre mon foyer
Dans la rivière de mon enfance, je te retrouve dans mes rêves..

Dans la rivière de mon enfance, je te retrouve dans mes rêves. Rhumel, Rhumel…”

Words on a Clothesline

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is image-1-1024x683.png

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By Jean Louis Mondon

Words on a clothesline, hanging in the wind
Words and notes on a threshold across
Connections of the heart
Flying on wings unfolding
Collections lulled by melodies hanging
Between trees grounded in the earth
Priming emotions to feel moved
Hoping for one more encounter

As a sail that fades sadly
In the dawn of her destiny
As a train in a station
As a train in late motion
As a train that crawls away
The witness of our tears clouds
The sound of the falling night

Marking the beats of your heart
Metronome just on time
In your dreams weaving hope
Between silence and sotto voce
Your noble silk chords vibrate
In mine, the echo chambers resonate

The quiet of your soul
Fans the flame
That softly reveals
The grace of the Lord

The enticing desert mirage
Cradles this flower blooming
In my dazzled heart
At the dawn of night
Shadowing its light image
Through the windows of your being

The past as a preface
With our torn, missing pages
In the present interlace
Between you and me… spaces
The gaps are filled and sealed

And a bridge, a ladder
Built against adversity
Teaches us to walk closer
Together on the right side
On the bright side

Behold, the mystery
Revealed, embraced
As you see, this time
Between you, between me
It´s the end of turmoil
The distance between us
Cannot grow wider than the soil
Love will allow it to go

For love is the shortest of distances
Between our gazing eyes, accomplices lost
In the vastness of wonderment
Revealed in the deep silence
Of growing intermingling roots
Covering each other
With ineffable sighs
In the hope of one more encounter

_________________

Author´s Note

Brazilians have a delightfully creative tradition that I have come to appreciate and enjoy. In the photo above, you can see pages of paper hanging from a clothesline, in Portuguese called "varal de roupas". Because of the prevailing warm weather, one can see clothes dancing in the wind in all the backyards. Tradition from the old European and African countries such as Italy, Southern France, Portugal, Spain and my home country of Algeria. Everywhere in cities and village for school poetry contests, at a country fair or a cultural presentation, works of art or poems are on display for all to enjoy. I hope that you enjoy this poem and that you too will dream of what can happen when you let the wind of the Spirit take you where He wills.

Vem ao Meu Jardim

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By Jean Louis Mondon

Enquanto estava ainda sonhando
Contemplando a alvorada tímida
Meu Pai Celestial, O Mestre jardineiro
Estava a despertar-me do meu sonho
Me convidou a pisar além
Da soleira e a mergulhar
No profundo lugar
Com uma Palavra de sua boca
E um brilho no olhar

“Vamos ao meu jardim,
Contemplar a bela criação
Do meu filho amado Jesus.
Lá, no ar resplandecente
Exalando um perfume sublime
Passearemos nas sendas
Chapinhadas de luz,
Cobertas por tons diáfanos.

Juntos numa doce comunhão
Cheia de deleite andaremos
Sobre esta terra, seu lar temporário
Minha boa e maravilhosa criação.

Eis, cresce a flor da esperança,
Lá, cresce a flor mais formosa,
Sempre voltada para o sol
De um amor sem igual.

O calor brando dos raios
Sempre brilhando em Seus olhos
Cheios de compaixão e misericórdia
Chama o humilde e contrito coração
Levantando os espíritos
Mesmo os mais feridos e abalados.

A frágil beleza de sua essência,
Nunca murchará no esquecimento
Mas morrendo a si mesma
Transformará-se em fruto doradouro
Porque o manancial de agua viva
Que alimentá-la nunca se apagará”.

____________________________

Original em Inglês composto em 2017, publicado em 2023. Tradução portuguesa revisada em 2026. Arte visual por ChatGPT. Arranjo musical por SUNO music AI.