Lucien
The House of Koni holds not only stories of the past but burdens passed to the youngest.”
Lucien stands in the dim interior of a Tata Somba,
half his body claimed by shadow.
He is still a child,
yet the quiet burden in his eyes speaks of years ahead.
His brother Fiacre once carried this weight,
until a wall gave way and fate sealed itself too soon.
Now the duty has shifted.
The roof.
The family.
The hunger.
The silence.
All rests upon Lucien.
School has become a memory,
replaced by labor.
What remains is a thread of possibility,
a wit that might one day cut through
the heaviness of inheritance.
The house itself seems to lean into him,
whispering reminders
that survival is also
a form of memory.
Lucien et Fiacre, réunis au pied de l’arbre. L’image garde la mémoire d’un futur interrompu.
Lucien, dans l’ombre du tata somba. La pénombre révèle le poids d’un héritage précoce.
Un corps frêle, un bâton à la main. L’enfant se tient déjà comme un homme de devoir.
Assis contre le mur rouge de la maison en terre, Lucien se repose. L’école perdue demeure en arrière-plan.
Sous l’arbre aux racines nouées, le jeune corps s’ancre au tronc séculaire. Le silence de l’enfant rejoint celui des arbres.
Un jeu suspendu, un fragile équilibre dans les branches. L’absence de sourire dit plus que l’enfance.
This is Nomatic Light