May I have the honor, Maraki?
I Speak
I speak of the last bugle calls of the defeated soldiers
Of the last rags of our festive clothes
Of our children who sell cigarettes to the passers-by
I speak of the flowers that whithered on the graves and rot in the rain
Of the houses that gasp without windows like toothless skulls
Of the girls who beg, showing the wounds on their breasts
I speak of the barefoot mothers who crawl amidst debris
Of the burning cities, of the piles of corpses in the streets
Of the pimping poets who shudder at night on the doorsills
I speak of the endless nights when light diminishes at sunrise
Of the overloaded lorries and the steps on the wet pavement
Of the prison yards and the tears of those sentenced to death
But above all I speak of the fishermen
Who abandoned their nets and followed His footsteps
And when He grew tired, they did not rest
And when He betrayed them, they did not renounce
And when He was glorified, they averted their eyes
And their fellows spat in their faces and crucified them
But they, serene, take to the road that has no end
Without their gaze being obscured or bent
Upright and solitary amid the dread desolation of the crowd
Manolis Anagnostakis ("I Synexia 2", 1954-56)
__________
Hmmm, maybe we should move this to "Greek lyrics translation". What do you think?
