Tasos Livaditis-Poems, Volume II

THEN, who is the one who looks over our shoulders

signaling to someone else behind us and they agree

without us? I turned to look, however which secret

was even hidden with so much craftiness, as all else

was a conjecture amid the dark shadows? “No, no one

is left”, I said and when finally the car stopped in front

of the door no one got out since the incomprehensible

was already inside the house and the old man, standing

by the door, wore a big size robe

       like the poor who, when they die, are very light in

their casket since Fate had wasted them and couldn’t

find a buyer for their souls; when the others returned to

the city to finish their day the poor dead seem surprised

that while time flies no one comes to send them away.

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