Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume II


The night, a motionless stony darkness,

shuts its eyes and mouth. Its hand can’t

extend, its leg can’t move; everything

is built of thick darkness. Only the small

marble cross with your small name

shines in the night, white trunk of a fell tree,

and the white juice of memory that rises inside it

makes its tender branches stir,

along with the letters of your name.



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