The hours have faded me, found once again
leaning across the thankless table.
(The sun slips through the window in the wall that
faces me, and plays.)
Doubled up, I grope for breath
in the dust of all my papers.
(Life pulses sweetly and its thousand voices rise
from the freedom of the street.)
My eyes and mind are weary and disturbed,
but still I write.
(I know that in the vase beside me are two glowing lilies.
As if they’ve come up from a tomb.

K. KARYOTAKIS

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