VI
Nights with their tightly shut doors,
in the safety of a dirty bed
in a dream that erases the footsteps
that trample darkness,
tired dream, silent, only with sperm, with saliva
spasmodically shutting the cracks of screams
momentarily,
and again in the lustful warmth of nakedness.
Days with the totally hidden rust of tears
in the dark brand new suits,
days trapped in the personally won bread
and then, after the end of the celebration,
the harbor master supervises the carrying of its bones;
and from good morning to good morning, from
one silence to another,
the fear —
smoking half a cigarette between two cadavers.
Where they deny me they’ll deny me again,
forgotten, ignored, a burdensome ancient
acquaintance,
a mask ravaged by horror and frost
like change in front of the fear of change
where they sent me away and spat on me
where they smiled at me and then they pretended
the future smokestacks, while all along, it was like
Saturday evenings with their fiancé, and
I was left alone with extended hand amid
the deserted autumns with
only the wind that applied salt deep in the wounds
that kisses opened,
there where we felt hungry together and now
they don’t share their hunger with me
where we ate together and now they don’t
even give me a piece of bread or coal
where we walked together and they now deny me
each step and stone
where we slept and now they deny me sleep
and hope
where we lived and now they deny me the door
of their houses
where we lived and now they deny me the certainty
and patience
there is where I shall go.
Because something that doesn’t vanish
exists in everyone
something exists in everyone that life holds
in its two hands tightly.
Manolis 