Futile
Internal voiceless tears of grief
have dried up on my pale cheeks
and unwillingly I’ve searched
for the meaning of my demise
and I stood and asked
all my beautiful adornments
is this supposedly love?
And is this same with life?
And I stood and asked why
in my youth filled with fragrance
I heard the voice, the tedious
voice that was leading my way
and I stood there long enough
for my question-laughter to freeze
until the deep darkness slowly
reflected in my eyes.
No voice reaches here anymore
from all the powerful things I had
the wise people looked at me
and left saying a ghost that I was.
Manolis Aligizakis 