Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Selected Books, Volume II, Second Edition


The train passed by the bricklayer’s shop at midnight;

The houses retained the train’s pulse on their walls and

             the window panes;

frightened or surprised they went to sleep

             and forgot all about it.

Him, he didn’t sleep all night long. The train had passed

             through his veins

with what it brought with what it took. And he waited,

             in his mind,

to hear the train’s last whistle coming from the fields,

             from behind the trees.



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