POEM BY KATERINA GOGOU

25^th of MARCH

One day I’ll open the door

to go out to the streets

just like yesterday

I won’t think but

a piece of my father

a piece of the sea

things they left to me

and the city. This city that they’ve turned rotten

and our friends who vanished

one day I’ll open the door

straight to the fire

and I’ll enter like yesterday

crying out fascists

putting up roadblocks

and throwing stones

holding a red banner

gleaming high up in the sunshine.

I’ll open the door

and this, not because I’m afraid,

but, I mean to say I had no time

and that you also have to learn

not to go down the streets

without weapons like I did

I had no time to grab them     

because you’ll get lost like I did

just like that vaguely

shuttered into pieces

of sea, years of childhood

and red banners.

One day I’ll open the door

and vanish

with the dream of revolution

in the wholesome loneliness

of the conflagrated streets

in the endless loneliness

of roadblocks made of carton paper

with the epithet — don’t believe in them —

Provocateur

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