Moment of Porphery

But no mercy is heard for the entreating voice.

Punishment buffets me about like snowbeaten Winter

like unbearable Cold, with no fire, no bed,

no roof, no food, nor pity, nor forgiveness,

and snowbound Christmas approaches.

The Shepherds take down their Flutes, dust off the Church Organs,

and the Magi watch the heavens daylong and nightlong

to find the Star of the newly-born Infant God.

A small Ray of life and warmth like a glowworm

behind a hedge in a dead Midnight of Vigilance

reaches even to me. Can it be they will come for me also,

the Angels, the Village Visitors, with their joyful Caroling?

Andreas Emberikos

SPRING AS ALWAYS

Covering the waves of the spear-conquered town with her red dress

At first small and then large

She ascends to the top of the tower

And seizes the clouds and presses them to her bosom

Perhaps there was never a sorrow greater than hers

Perhaps no whisper ever fell more incandescent on the surface of a face

Perhaps there was never exposed to the comprehension of man an

exhibition more extensive

Exhibition more varied more comprehensive than the story of this

confession told by the clouds

Cut here and there by guillotines

Warm drops fall on the ground

The hillock formed on the principal spot of the fall

Swells and rises still

No tax can be so heavy as this one drop

No diamond more heavy

No suitor more passionate

Bright are the fringes of the sun and they gleam in the sun

On the summit a basin is waiting

No cleft can be widened without desire

On the garden railing the birds open their wings

The neighborhood of the river attracts them

The passion of the vulture for a white pigeon

Is a mountain summit with snowy crest

When the ice melts we sing in the valleys

The waters intoxicate us

The pupils of our eyes wash their treasures

Some are blond and some brunette

They hold in their faces the reflection of our hopes

They hold in their breast the milk of our lives

And we stand about them

Eternal commands surround us

The mountain bloodclots throb and dissolve

Their snows are songs of the coming of new years

These years are our life

In their hollows the birds rest at noon

No cleft can be widened without desire of widening

Sometimes we become hourglasses

And the sponges throb to every single drop of ours.

Demetrios Antoniou