LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER
Stay, stay here; it’s so quiet, it’s so quiet here like
happiness, as if change has ended or the sea has
undertaken the responsibility of our movements too;
and we, through this window, not being in any danger,
can observe it while we feel enchanted by all these
fleeting watery shapes, by these painless cries,
the causeless noise, the faded colours, reflections,
transitions, uninvolved, already flattered by your
knowledge about the unaltered water under the noisy
and threatening gestures of the wind. Do stay.
In a while you’ll discern the undivided, humble silence
under the shredding of its echoes; you’ll discern it like
politeness towards yourself; especially during
the twilight
when the room smells of salinity, smoke and oil and
a strong fragrance of seaweed, the wind and homely
quietness, along with the warm aroma of the coffee
and the endless hoarseness of the horizon; that time
you feel as if you’re in a comfortable, secure
alcove
dug in a circular manner in the futile noise, and
sometimes from a loud thud, an exquisite oscillation
as if a beloved hand touches you while you sleep,
though it doesn’t wake you up,
while at the same time it gives you the sense of
relaxation and the touch of your beloved hand. Yes,
stay for a while.
Manolis Aligizakis 