POEM BY KOSTAS KARYOTAKIS
WHEN WE GO DOWN THE STEPS
When we descent the steps of death what will we say
to the shadows who will welcome us
the stern, familiar, vague friends
with a smile on their invisible lips?
Here at least we’re alone
one day passes the next one comes
and we still retain in our eyes
something that gives color to everything.
But down there what can we say where can we go
we’ll be forced to look at each other
with severed arms at the elbows
motionless like the faces of icons.
If one comes to knock onto our gravestone
he will imagine how we lived
if he brings along a rose and drops it
it will become sand dropped on the ground
and if ever we stand onto our toes
we’ll see the villa of Posillipo
and the terrain of Paradise, oh Lord
where your fans play cricket.