…And I, amid
the rage and rattle of people,
unaccustomed to a father
and unfamiliar with
a mother, free of all caresses,
stood like a fresh branch of
a not pruned, ageless,
fruitless, deep shaded tree;
barefoot riding a black
stubborn mule, alone tried to
discover who I was (no other
could had ever guessed it) who
covered my essence with a
cloth knitted by the morning dew
and by the hands of rosy dawn…
Manolis Aligizakis 