VI
Behold. Please, stay on this hymn,
the young poet cries out now. With
the skylark of his vision and logos
standing unfettered by the tempest,
as a lightning bolt, the poet records
the marks of the wild wind
on the falcon’s feathers, the young poet
enters as the coolest breeze
in the heart of July’s noon hour
ruffling the petals of the jasmine
and caressing the virgin’s pubic hair
like a soothing kiss on the forehead
of dawn the young poet enters
with his dream before the counting of
heartbeats, with feelings of red roses
he takes notice of the neighbour’s littleness
which defines these leaden days.
Behold. Please, stay on this hymn,
the young poet cries out now, freshly
cut from the womb of a mother
with the tribute of his chalice
as from the arc of the bluest sky
the young poet enters bearing gifts.
Manolis Aligizakis 