Poem by George Vizyenos
ANEMONE
A boulder on the hill
alone can see
the creek that flows
before it sings its song.
The anemone that blooms
rooted firmly on the rock
attempts to grasp
the meaning of the song
and down it bends to hear,
leaving its rocky anchor
to know what song is sung
by that fast-flowing creek?
It sings of an embrace
that waits with open arms
to hold a lover ardently
at night on a golden shore.
If only, said the flower,
that embrace were mine,
and leaning further down
to touch the rapid current
as it leaned enough to see
the water in its speed
stripped it of its petals
and down the stream it went.
Now without petals
the stem stands in loneliness.
Ah, why, ah, why did that anemone
deserted its anchor in the rock?
Manolis Aligizakis 