And when we wanted to talk we suddenly went silent.
Through the open window we listened to the footsteps
of the moribund coming from afar.
How could our talk warm up such frost;
how could our door protect us from all this night
as two people threw their great shadow between us.
What will it become of us, my beloved?
My beloved, are you listening to me?
No, it’s not the wind that reaches from afar.
You’d say thousands of footsteps descended to the roads;
thousands of boots pound their nails on the
asphalt.
Where do they go? How can they go away?
How could I’ve lived away from you, my beloved?
How would I’ve lighted a lamp if it wasn’t to see you?
How would I’ve looked at the wall without your shadow
spread on it?
How would I’ve leaned on a table where you hadn’t rested
your hands?
How could I’ve touched a slice of bread if we didn’t
share it?
This noise becomes stronger in time;
there’s no place to sleep. There’s no corner where
you can sit.
No, it isn’t the wind that comes from far away.
Come, rip our bed-sheet, my beloved, rip
your dress and fill the cracks.
People put all their belongings in a sack
because all their household
Manolis Aligizakis 