Heroes
Bright eyes of the heroes fledging
and shoe-less feet splash
in the fountain
yet to be honored champions
who haven’t managed to explore
their hatred in front of throngs
on tv monitors, in the mourner’s tears
nothing moves as slow as history
in this parched world
that thirsts for rain and green olive
leaves
aspirations of a day
born red in the eyelids of the terrorist
and you said —
there’s nothing here for us
only a yellow death
and our desire for glory
Manolis Aligizakis 