Mortality
Don’t talk anymore There is no continuance You search
the shapes the colors You pretend to choose
Motorcycles are noisy Windowpanes break Paul
believed in people They killed him A lot gets forgotten
a lot remains half-done Solemn women
wash the glass tubes they leave them in the sun
children sleep in their clothes at night The compass
has been left on the table for years I’ll go out – he said –
I’ll buy a watermelon as big as the whole world
I’ll slice it in two to stare at its dark red color
firmly nailed with black nails And I shall eat it
Manolis Aligizakis 