Council
Battles after battles — you got tired. Then, stay here
just before the end. Forget. Close your eyes go deep
inside
to the other, benevolent darkness. Then, get up to chisel,
in the rock, beautiful images for the last time, like those on
the shield of Achilles.
yet, look and choose the most insignificant — the heralds,
for example, tired under the oak trees; the soldiers preparing
supper;
the king leaning silently on his sceptre; a youth coming down
the hill yelling — his open mouth with no voice. Women sit
by their front steps gazing at the faraway distance or deep
within themselves with a sweet smile of forgiveness that
this day has passed too and the concern of the house and
the laundry — the cloths are washed and ironed and placed
in the drawer; the broom resting behind the door too; the
water pitchers are full; the oil lamp is hanging on a nail
off the wall; under the table its shadow is like a gigantic
black dog, which doesn’t wag its tail; the evening star on
the right corner of the sky — then, they can look, without
any grumbling or regret, at the flowers in the garden,
the windowpanes that have caught fire or the pretty girls
and boys who dance in the square sometimes in lines
opposite each other, sometimes in quick circular movements,
like the potter turns his wheel when he tries it.
This scene, leave it for last — is has to be last — you know,
the dance of the young men, because tomorrow will come
the big celebration of the dead — friends and enemies. And
again the voyage with Helen totally covered in her silver
peplums.
Manolis Aligizakis 