Blood
Most people don’t understand
whether the sun rises
from behind the mountain or
is shot out of the pistol’s barrel
it always burns you.
For this so many of our dreams
remained unrealized
inexplicably happiness was laid
in the display window
of the department store and
loneliness was again eulogized
in churches, while as the years went by
him, the one with the severed arm,
kept on other people’s discolored
walls, truth always decorates
the cement, one word written
with fiery red letters:
blood, blood, blood.
Manolis Aligizakis 