RECIPE FOR LIFE
I thin up the ancient horror
in dreams that last seconds
the daily panic
with a momentary heaven.
I systematically hate the excess:
let me miss the train, I say
but running careful not to break
the water pitcher
with the little joy that has
remained in its bottom.
The indignation
that more and more boils
for something I didn’t betray,
though I lost
for the defeat that appeared
as victory,
I place in the air to cool off
the way nature has coordinated.
The murderous sorrow
of everything that I loved and is alive
though they doesn’t matter to me anymore
I pass through the time machine
and I lightly dust with thickened sorrow
the evening meal
which life still serves.
Manolis Aligizakis 