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.
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Comments about this poem (Preveza by Kostas Karyotakis )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- Birds, Tony Adah
- come, come to the light, let us all bathe., RIC S. BASTASA
- dignity finally comes in the form of a r.., RIC S. BASTASA
- to live in the kingdom of the clouds, RIC S. BASTASA
- but always remember no one owns it, RIC S. BASTASA
- Diaris Godoooo!, Rex mayor Ubini
- THE OLD MAN HAS FOUND TRUE LOVE AGAIN, RIC S. BASTASA
- गोरबो इसिँनिफ्राइ -69, Ronjoy Brahma
- Her Beautiful Lies, Swagat Bhattacharjee
- गोरबो इसिँनिफ्राइ -68, Ronjoy Brahma