Chores
You ask the silent mountains
to bring the morning
to craft the trees’ shade
your heart to be
concealed by fog
flower that vanished behind
a curtain of pain and
you got up to stare into
the eyes of another sunny day
motive for thoughts you had
of him to trim the maple and
to spread some fertilizer
over the flower beds when
familiar anguish attacks you
beauty passes by your irises
benevolence doesn’t impress you
and you have missed
another innocent moment
like his voice and
his tender arm over your shoulders.
Manolis Aligizakis 