THEN what else is the future but our true motherland
since the dream goes that direction and when we die
we’re ahead of yesterday, dead in the great tomorrow,
same as when mothers to be still look at the engagement
ring on their finger in awe, we’re, in tears and already
walking toward time.
XII
Unprofitable route
What goes on with the rudder?
The boat inscribes circles
and not one seagull
XIII
Sick Fury
She has no eyes
the serpents she held
eat her hands
XIV
This column has a hole
do you see
Persephone?
XV
The world sinks
hang on it will leave you
alone in the sun
XVI
You write
the ink lessened
the sea increases
Coal
When the sun was scorching all
earth dwellings the voice of the coal
seller was heard, a sweaty man
promoting his black merchandise,
his treasure trove for people’s heaters,
coal made of olive tree wood, good
heating coal some bought while the sun
up on the horizon smiled ironically for
coal seller who at the end of summer
had brought the cold in people’s minds
and the wine flask and the chestnuts
on top of the burning stove, thoughtful
villagers taking care of their winter needs
justified the coal seller, who
in the summertime, sweaty and tired as he
was selling his black merchandise
to the wise villagers concerned with
the cold days and nights of winter
and you said,
he too had tied an anchor around
his ankle like a donkey fastened
onto his predestined space-time.
Manolis Aligizakis 