STROPHE
Moment, sent by a hand
that I had so much loved
you reached me almost at dusk
like a black dove.
The road shone before me
soft breath of sleep
at the end of a secret feast
moment, grain of sand,
that you alone kept
the tragic clepsydra whole
silent, as though it had seen Hydra
in the heavenly orchard.
Disguises
Among all the masks, he lost his face; he searched —
the red mask, the light blue, the black, the yellow; and that
purple with the golden evening star around the mouth and
eyes, and that one with the long, audacious beard; he used it
when he was ten years old, it suited him (and it proved true
almost to the point fifty years later); the other one, the white,
made of gypsum with the hollow eyes the cut-off nose as if
it represented his death; it relaxed him; he used it a lot; only
that dampness of the gypsum and the fine dust; he was afraid
they might get glued on his skin (oh, that, his real face) there
on the wall — where it is hanging; the sailor’s pipe got between
his teeth: he puts his sunglasses on— a deep glance, blind,
it stares into his eyes and encourages him to make a new choice:
the red again, the yellow, the light blue.
Manolis Aligizakis 