THE PROPHET
Cursed country from the heights
to the depths, you sinful land!
None will ever lean to give
you the last kiss of death.
And your fall will reverberate
your mourning will be heard
before it will be smothered
by the whole crying universe.
A new world will appear as
if from your ashes, denier
of all your power and glory
the world will talk badly of you.
A World different than yours
one you have nourished with
your milk will pass over your
lands and a spring will flow
out of each step it’ll take.
And your Soul, oh Polis,
damned sinful as it is and
dead will leave you and
shall wander searching for
a new generation as if sold out
to demons it will cry and
wander in the darkness like
a shadow in the void, like
a craft in the wild abyss…
Manolis Aligizakis 