SOMETIMES during the night I wake up Ι light the lamp and
stand there opposite the foreigner; at daybreak of course nothing is
left but an imperceptible mark that one could take as a drop of
wax while it was, perhaps, the unforgivable which no one could see;
only the old forgotten organ was heard in the basement, oh God,
I should have long ago buried all the mementos because even
the inescapable commences as simple as that; yet at night I sat
by the stairs and waited for the one who could defeat the silent
world and could take the big needle of cross-stitching I held,
like women who, lost in their embroidery while the others
were asleep, have already followed the one who forever walks
ahead of us.
Manolis Aligizakis 