Who knows what tomorrow brings, or
who is aware of what happened yesterday,
my years were lost here and there, in rooms,
in trains, in dreams
but every now and then a woman’s voice
as the night falls
seems like goodbyes
of an age that’s long gone
and the days you lack, oh February,
maybe they’ll be granted to us
in heaven-
I think about the small hotels where
I scattered the sighs of my youth
in the end no one escapes, because
even if he could there’s nowhere to go
and love is our madness
towards the impossible
of getting to know each other-
Lord, you ve’wronged the poets
by giving them only one world,
and when I die I wish I was buried
in a pile of calendar pages,
so as to take the time with me.
And perhaps whatever is left
will be on our roadside
just a brief ‘forget me not’
Tasos Livaditis
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