Saturday, August 1, 2020



Years Of Hunger

I had only one childhood
onto which I entrusted
the tenderness of my mother’s kiss
her soft hand over my scraped knee
the Sunday clothes always ironed

smell of sea
from the open window
before everything was floodlit
under dimmed city lights

my hope and the oath I took
one way or another
to someday sit comfortably
at the big table of the satiated


He knew there was still time
before they took him for the execution;
for this he lied flat on the concrete floor
to feel the freshness of the underworld
there where the souls freeze at night
the hardness of the black slab
against his flesh resembled a door
before his eyes wide open.

Suddenly he turned towards the corner
where I was pretending
that I was keeping him company
laughed a hasten rough laughter
as if warming up for
his important conversation with death
and without any word
he grabbed his bag and
threw it over to me as if
he was settling his last affairs.

Then he sealed his ears with his palms
when the chanting chaplain
came through the open door.


My confession was simple:
father, I said, I’m a sinner
the guilt of the universe sits
heavy on my chest
forgive me that I passionately loved
the bloomed hyacinth and
the flight swings of swallows

and my two greatest sins
my unmeasured love
for the laughter of the child
and the beggars who stood
with their extended hands
filled with good wishes

my confession was simple

straight to the Purgatory
the priest delivered his opinion.


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