Secret
The great happiness
we wish to find
in the mysticism
of the olive grove,
in the moist autumnal fragrance
canticle of sounds flowing into
ears unaccustomed to beauty
there, in the light breeze
where the meaning of duty
was freely served,
in the mind’s serenity
we had for years longed although
unconcerned we wasted
in the wrong throw of the dice,
there was our hidden happiness
as we couldn’t understand
it was we who buried it deep
in the rekindled loss of memory
while our symbols became
daggers for the other man.
Manolis Aligizakis 