Twenty-Second Hour
In the hands of zealots He places
matches and they march to the burning site
where they conflagrate holy books
and the enemy’s hovels
ostracized reason rebels
against simple thought
invisible bow strikes notes
and the birds of prey swallow
bitter beads sweating multitudes
gather and an archaic ziggurat decays
in their arrogant minds when
like silence of untold myths the
pandemonium of arcane words
impede all progress and vanity
of dramatic scenes neglects
sanctity of pious peasants
and artful efforts of
thought police the moralists
insisting on the absurdity
as Jehovah breaks
a sinister smile at the chaos His
gift of the polyglot concept erupting
more futile in vain whitewashed bodies
and I ask her to slightly open her lips
to define my finger guiding
her smile against the mirror’s wish
as outside our open window
pieced-out souls go by
with seamed partitions
one for the spring another
for Death one for summer
at last one for the red egg and
smiling Death peeks from behind
the tree freeing a laughing
ladybug onto jasmine
and dons the polka dot tie with
confidence of the omniscient He
brings in the ever-sharp
translator asking ‘why?’
and the slum lord’s greed answers: who cares?
Manolis Aligizakis 