Treasure Island

Kostas Karyotakis

(1896-1928 / Greece)

Preveza


Death is the bullies bashing
against the black walls and roof tiling,
death is the women being loved
in the course of onion peeling.

Death the squalid, unimportant streets
with their glamorous and pompous names,
the olive-grove, the surrounding sea, and even
the sun, death among all other deaths.

Death the policeman bending over
to weigh, a 'lacking' portion,
death the harebells on the balcony
and the teacher with the newspaper.

Base, Guard, Sixty-man Prevezian Rule.
On Sunday we'll listen to the band.
I've taken out a savings booklet,
my first deposit drachmas thirty one.

Walking slowly on the quay,
'do I exist?' you say, and then: 'you do not!'
The ship approaches. The flag is flying.
Perhaps Mr. Prefect will be coming.

If at least, among these people,
one would die of sheer disgust
silent, bereaved, with humble manners,
at the funeral we'd all have fun.

Submitted: Friday, September 17, 2010

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

What do you think this poem is about?


Related Poems


Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Preveza by Kostas Karyotakis )

Enter the verification code :

Read all 1 comments »
[Hata Bildir]