
Μυθιστόρημα/Mythistorema
ΙΘ´
Κι ἂν ὁ ἀγέρας φυσᾶ δὲ μᾶς δροσίζει
κι ὁ ἴσκιος μένει στενὸς κάτω ἀπ᾿ τὰ κυπαρίσσια
κι ὅλο τριγύρω ἀνήφοροι στὰ βουνὰ
μᾶς βαραίνουν
οἱ φίλοι ποὺ δὲν ξέρουν πιὰ πῶς νὰ πεθάνουν.
XIX
Although the wind blows it doesn’t freshen us
and the shade is narrow under the cypresses
and all around uphill paths to the mountains;
they weigh heavy on us
the friends who don’t know how to die anymore.