The Departure - Poem by Costas Nisiotis
My father died on a wintry Sunday afternoon.
Moments before, his hair became black and curly
his eyes bright green. On his left wrist appeared
the watch with the gold bracelet.
He glanced at it and sprang out of bed.
A white shirt hung by the bedside.
He tucked it into black trousers.
Not the black suit again? I protested.
That’s the suit I got married in.
The room smells like a clinic.
Open the windows wide.
Give the wheelchair to an Old People’s Home.
-Are you sad you’re leaving? I asked him.
-The Equator divides my world into two equal parts:
the joy of seeing your mother and the sorrow of leaving you.
I’m about to cross it.
I knelt and hugged him.
Then my father left.
Comments about The Departure by Costas Nisiotis
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You