Toujours devant: Maux de Cœur / Ever forward: Heartaches

Ever Forward: Heartaches (Toujours devant : Maux de Cœur) is a bilingual poetic reflection that journeys through longing, duality, and self-recognition. Written in both English and French, the poem unfolds like a meditation across inner landscapes—of desire, memory, grief, and transcendence. It seeks to meet the reader in the in-between: between light and shadow, the self and the other, the worm in the dirt and the watcher of stars.

This work is meant to be read slowly, as one would walk through a field at dawn—pausing to feel, to question, to listen. The language offers both vulnerability and philosophical clarity. In many ways, it is a love letter to the self, disguised as a conversation with another.

🌌 Message and Meaning

At the heart of this poem lies the paradox of being human: the desire for more, and the sacredness of what already is.

It speaks to the yearning that drives us forward—toward purpose, toward connection, toward some imagined fulfillment—while gently reminding us that everything we seek might already be within. It explores:

• The longing for love and clarity.

• The ache of mortality and legacy.

• The sacred union of mind and soul.

• The ultimate reconciliation: to become one with the universe.

🪞Stanza-by-Stanza Analysis

Each stanza contributes to a spiritual arc, moving from restlessness to rootedness, from fragmented seeking to peaceful surrender.

I. The Flame of Longing and the Mirage of Elsewhere

Stanzas:

À chercher sans arrêt quelque chose, une flamme,

Devant moi, ou plus loin, dans l’ombre ou dans l’éclat,

Un ailleurs invisible, un silence, un pourquoi.

Forever seeking something — a flicker, a flame,

Ahead, or further still, in shadow or in shame.

An unseen elsewhere calls — a silence, or a vow.

🧭 Theme: Restless longing.

The opening lines express a soul in restless search — for meaning, for light, for purpose. The “flame” becomes a metaphor for a sacred yearning, which is both beautiful and tormenting. The repeated gesture of looking ahead, always elsewhere, evokes spiritual displacement: the aching belief that fulfillment lies just beyond reach. The “silence or a vow” speaks to the ambiguity of this call — is it a divine invitation, or simply the absence of clarity?

II. The Challenge of Presence

Stanzas:

Ai-je le droit d’aimer ce qui est juste là ?

Chercherais-je toujours un autre “maintenant” ?

Un lendemain plus pur, une autre heure à nommer ?

May I love the stillness of what’s right here, right now?

Am I forever drawn to chase another now?

A purer, unnamed hour — some better time to show.

🪷 Theme: The difficulty of presence.

Here, the poem questions the ethics of desire itself. Is it permissible to simply love what is? The poet recognizes their own tendency to idolize the future, always postponing satisfaction. They question their ability to fully inhabit the moment. This is the spiritual tension between presence and projection—the endless hope for a “better now” that may never come. This stanza captures the spiritual challenge of presence: to see the sacred not in some “other” moment, but in the moment at hand.

III. Self-Reflection and the Illusion of Otherness

Stanzas:

Mon rêve, c’est de rêver. Mon amour, c’est t’aimer.

Je désire t’ouvrir le cœur de mes pensées.

Mais toi que j’appelle toi, que je tente d’aimer,

Tu n’es pas vraiment toi — tu n’es autre que moi.

My dream is just to dream. My love — to love you true.

I wish to share my thoughts, my heart laid bare for you.

But you — the one I call you, whom I long to see —

Are not another self, but just a part of me.

🫂 Theme: Non-duality and inner union.

This section reveals the recursive nature of love and longing. What appears to be addressed to a lover becomes a mirror. The object of desire — the “you” — collapses into the self. The poet acknowledges that what they pursue externally is often a mirror of inner yearning. The “you” is a projection of the speaker’s own soul. This is an act of radical ownership: seeing the other as a projection of the inner self’s quest for wholeness. This is the moment where inner longing turns into self-recognition.

IV. The Dual Nature of the Self

Stanzas:

D’un côté, pas grand-chose de plus qu’un ver de terre,

De l’autre, contemplant la splendeur de l’univers.

One side of me — no more than a worm in the dirt.

The other — marveling at the whole universe.

🌱✨ Theme: Human smallness and cosmic awe.

Here lies the tension between insignificance and sacred ambition. The juxtaposition of the worm and the watcher of stars encapsulates both humility and grandeur—what it means to be human.

This juxtaposition captures the paradox of human identity: humble and celestial. Earthly insignificance and cosmic wonder coexist. This duality invites compassion — for the smallness of our lives — and reverence — for the grandeur of our awareness.

V. The Aspiration to Contribute

Stanzas:

Je rêve d’être utile, d’aider l’humanité,

De bâtir dans le vent un peu d’éternité.

I dream of being useful, of serving humankind,

Of building, in the wind, some trace I leave behind.

🤲 Theme: Aspiring to serve

The poet’s longing turns outward, toward service. Yet even here, the work is ephemeral — “in the wind.” There’s a quiet nobility in building something fragile, knowing it may not last, but doing it anyway. Eternity, in this sense, is not permanence but fully inhabiting the present moment.

VI. The Terror of Finality

Stanzas:

Et pourtant, je frissonne au vertige des fins,

Aux cauchemars d’extinction, de chaos sans matin.

And yet I tremble at the thought that all might cease —

Extinction’s quiet void, no dawn to bring us peace.

🕳️ Theme: Existential dread.

The fear of total annihilation, the void beyond legacy or meaning, momentarily overtakes the speaker. There is no salvation in this line—only the rawness of mortality.

This stanza gives voice to existential dread — the fear that all meaning might collapse into nothingness. The “chaos sans matin” (chaos without morning) is a potent image of despair: a world without renewal. This honesty grounds the poem in mortal vulnerability.

VII. The Interior Landscape

Stanzas:

Parfois, je ne suis qu’un homme seul avec son verre,

À la table du doute, dans une pièce sans lumière.

At times, I’m just a man, alone with glass in hand,

Seated at doubt’s own table, where no lights still stand.

🪑 Theme: Facing self doubt and loneliness

This is the emotional basement — where doubt, darkness, and loneliness meet. The simplicity of the image is powerful. It evokes depression without naming it. The poet’s candor creates space for the reader to witness their own moments of quiet despair.

VIII. The Rise of the Father

Stanzas:

Et parfois, je me dresse — immense et solitaire,

Géant comme un immeuble, dans la fierté d’être père.

At times, I rise alone — immense, and standing wide —

The strength of a tower. Of a father, the pride.

🏛️ Theme: Fluctuation of self.

From despair to dignity, this stanza captures the extremes of inner experience: doubt yields to illumination, collapse to fatherhood. The speaker is both vulnerable and towering.

Contrasting the previous stanza, this one asserts dignity and purpose. Fatherhood becomes a symbol of generative strength. The solitary figure here is not isolated, but grounded — like a mountain or an oak — witnessing life with sacred responsibility.

IX. The Pattern of Time and Wholeness

Stanzas:

Immensité sans fin, petitesse infinie,

Tous présents, tous passés, tous futurs — empruntés.

Dans leur entièreté, ne peuvent qu’être parfaits.

Sachant cela, mon cœur, je ne peux qu’espérer.

Endless immensity, infinite smallness.

All presents, all pasts, all futures — once explored.

Taken in as a whole, reveal a perfect scope.

Knowing this… my heart, I — can only lie in hope.

🕊️ Theme: Cosmic perspective.

Time collapses. Scale dissolves. This is the turning point—where the speaker surrenders, not out of defeat, but wonder. “Hope” is no longer desire—it is grace.

This is the spiritual pivot of the poem. Time and scale dissolve into unity. Once seen in their totality, even suffering and confusion become part of perfection. This awareness does not remove pain but gives it place — and through that placement, allows the heart to rest.

X. The Wisdom of Letting Go

Stanzas:

Espérer de vieillir, et d’accueillir le calme.

Mourir con, mais en paix, sans orgueil, ni vacarme.

Déposer les fardeaux, les peurs, les illusions,

Et ne plus rien vouloir, pas même les raisons.

Hope to age gracefully and welcome stillness in.

To die stupid, perhaps — but freed of guilt’s burden.

To lay aside the weights, the fears, the masks once worn,

No reason left to hold. No question to be borne.

🌾 Theme: Surrender and maturity.

There’s a liberation in letting go—not just of life, but of striving, identity, and ego. The idea of “dying stupid” is not derogatory; it’s sacred—an unknowing that becomes peace.

This stanza offers a countercultural vision of success: peace over pride. Wisdom is framed as surrender — not defeat, but relief. The idea of dying “stupid” becomes a spiritual metaphor for unknowing — not because one failed, but because one finally let go of needing answers.

XI. The Final Unburdening

Stanzas:

Mourir seul et stupide, sans savoir si j’ai su,

Mais les mains sans colère, et le cœur presque nu.

To die dumb, never knowing if I ever knew,

With shoulders free of weight, my heart laid bare and true.

🕯️ Theme: Final surrender.

This distills the previous stanza into an image of death without regret, unburdened by judgment. There’s no need for answers anymore—only transparency of heart.

This is the climax of emotional humility. No victory, no certainty — just a clean, unresentful departure. The naked heart echoes spiritual traditions of purification. What matters is not what you knew, but that you are no longer clenched.

XII. The Two Sides of Death

Stanzas:

Niveau tête, rien de plus — de poussière à poussière.

Niveau Âme, le retour — un avec l’univers.

Mind level — nothing’s left: dust turning back to dust.

Soul level — full return: one with the universe.

🌌 Theme: Dual vision.

The closing lines resolve the central tension. From the mind’s view, death is obliteration. From the soul’s, it is reunion. Both are true. But in this ending, the speaker leans towards the latter: oneness, not absence.