Night Trip
The bus pulls ahead noisily
grinding the seconds into airy flour.
Oh, monster of a myth
what I fear and respect is you
as you gulp the white lines
of the angry asphalt —
the night giving flesh to the starry time.
This highway extends
along a line that vanishes into the void
the spheres and small planets play
the night giving flesh to the starry time.
I run with dizzy motionlessness into the future
clouds and stars amid my hair
the eons pass through me like a wind whirl
frozen current —
next to me, sleepy passengers travel.
Manolis Aligizakis 