practiced my religion
on the last breath of the sick man
and I said,
he is a hero, too, since he endured
human pain and
he loved the fragrance
of the night flower
which didn’t know of holidays
the sick man and I are comrades,
since we both experienced
the heroism of a twenty-four-hour duty
I practiced my religion
on the future catastrophe and
in the longing for the past
during which we endured pain
we, the youths with acne
and a light beard on our cheeks
us, who, one day,
will be called dreamers
and I said,
let them call me a foolish dreamer
let them name me crazy
let the joys of wealth be untouched
and let their glory be inglorious
I practiced my religion
on the perfection of human wholeness and
I hymned eternity with odes.
Manolis Aligizakis 