I speak

I speak about the last trumps of the defeated soldiers
About the last rags from our festal garments
About our children that sell cigarettes to the passerbys
I speak about the withered flowers on the graves that are being rotten by the rain
About the houses that gape without windows like skulls without teeth
About the girls that beg showing the wounds on their breasts
I speak about the barefoot mothers that grovel in the ruins
About the burning cities, the lumps of corpses on the streets,
The pimping poets that creep at night on the doorsteps
I speak about the endless nights when the light diminishes at dawn
About the loaded trucks and the steps on the wet tiles
About the prison yards and the tears of the moribund

But mostly I speak about the fishermen
Who left their fishing nets and followed His steps
And when He got tired they didn’t rest
And when He betrayed them they didn’t deny
And when He was glorified they turned their look
And their comrades spit and crucified them
And they peacefully walk the endless road
Without glooming or bending their glance

Standing and alone in the dreadfull wilderness of the crowd

M.Anagnostakis