Here is a fantastic tale I have written. Is it inspired from reality. Perhaps, yes. This story relates a strange encounter with The Devil. A lot is to be learned from this text. But right now, instead of marketing this article to you, I will just challenge you to read it. It is inspiring. It is thought-provoking. It is a simple must-read.

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Vitrine de Poésie

The Poet was studying

The Devil was playing his violin

The Poet was writing

The Devil was blowing his trumpet

The Poet was slumbering

The Devil was breathing his violin…

What was the Poet studyin’

What was he writin’

What was the Devil blowin’

What was he playin’


In the restrain’d half-cold half-gloomy atmosphere of his chamber,

The Poet was studying the square root between ancient languages

Far more stupefying than a gold spell or Midas’s handshake

With quite a desperate heart…

The night was fill’d with dreams’ odes

And lo’, Moon laid low her head far in the east

More beautiful than a woman was the sight of naked Moon…

Drowned into the pulse of the world

The Devil was playing an air of melancholia

And the Poet could hear at the dawn of the new year, here

From these symphonies of the lower spheres

A call to luxury and debauchery, the same call to a life of struggles and miseries…

Guess what the Poet did to be left alone?

Guess, can you?

The Poet blew his own ears off with Zion’s noise

And thereafter, stared at the Devil deeply with a blank mind asking for what’s after…

Then flew somewhere else empty his bucket

From the delusions of beauty

For only beauty and beauty and beauty can the Devil propose mortals…

And the Devil quite upset quite impressed quite happy, disappeared…

— Gilles F. Dogbo

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