POEM by Kostas Karyotakis
DEATHS
There’re people who carry
their bad luck inside them
Little hands holding roses
hands warm from the joy of kisses
little hands holding roses
and knocking at the door of death
my beloved eyes that thirsted for something
you have remained thirsty glances
my beloved eyes that thirsted for something
you have remained closed windows
oh, lips that had much to say
your words chose your grave
oh, lips that had much to say
you didn’t mention of the grief I write.
Beloved eyes, little hands, lips narrate to me
the momentary pain, the pain of a place
beloved eyes, little hands, lips narrate to me
the pain of things and that of man
Hellenic Canadian Literature 