The banquet

Laurent Hellot – 2017 © Médium toi-même ! -

An amazing table, wide with a white tablecloth.

A unusual gathering, with people from all origins.

A incredible hubub, mix of screams and sobs.


and everybody waiting to the feast to begin.


But there is nor waiter, nor cook.

But there is nor dessert, nor soup.

But there is only loneliness in this group.


They all came here, hoping to learn and discover,


what life is made of,

what could be the next show off.


They haven’t realized yet that there is no magic carpet, that the only painful evidence is that they are only puppets,

tied by the knots they’ve done themself with their griefs and distresses.


They keep waiting, never mind the time spent, convinced they are in the right banquet, since they’ve got an invitation, since there is no way to go home.

And the sun is getting down, enlightening this theater like a fire, transforming the white table into a burning soil, turning the faces in grotesque masks of devils, dissolving the dreams into a bizarre cream

one with colors and sparkles, falling on the floor where it dries.


The night has come now.

There is no light somehow.


The people are still at the table, in the dark, with no mark, not sure anymore to remember where is the door, to at least try to escape of what is becoming a trap.

They do not speak, they don’t dare to weep. They are adults after all, they are able to overcome this fall. They will wake up tomorrow with no regrets and sorrows. They will carry on their lifes, as if nothing has survived : their hopes, their certitudes, their strenght, their solitude.


But the sun do not rise.

But the stars are lost in another paradise.


The guests keep waiting, for another morning which is never going to happen, since the’ve fallen from heaven. They haven’t understood it yet, but they will remain puppets, as long as none of them will try to stand and claim


that his fate is not to die,

with a heart full of tears and dry ;


that a new day is due,

for him and for all of you ;


that he is not here to collapse,

with his breath in gasps ;


that he is going to light

his own candle bright.


But the hours are shattering.

But there is still no morning.


Nobody, absolutely no one try to be brave

and at least save face.

They sit, they vomit, they cry, they die.


They accept that are in a casket. They abdicate.


They are pityful, all this lot of people. They were pretending yesterday to be the brightest, the bravest all the way. And we see how not a single one is capable of saying :



There are prisoners of their own desires, not even original, or greater than the others ; just miserable, tiny and small, expressions of nothing else that an empty distress.


They will stay glued to their chairs since they fall into dispair. This is the only way to make them obey, to force them to react, to endorse their acts.

They need to go through this ordeal, to comprehend how their lifes are not real, how they waste their time rushing after each dime. But this is not only a question of money : this is a question of who they want to obey


this commercial farce

or an amazing grace.


All these guests do no see what incredible party is taking place while tears run on their faces,

just on the other side of the walls of this room full of people,

just a meter away from their dark days.


A party that is never ending, since it had no beginning.

A party that is offering to each one to be the star they want to become.

A party which has a name :

Life and love,

Love and life,

Exactly the same.

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