Candles



The future faces us

like a family of ignited candles, aligned—

golden, hot, living.

The past remains past

hangs back

refusing to move

like a collection of lights snuffed out,

dark as the cover over a coffin or a hearse.

The candles closest to me

                                         still emitting smoke

threaten          to go cold

melt                       toward resolution

curve over     as the spine of the elderly face the ground. 
I can’t look on them:

their shape breaks my heart

broken bodies that remind me

they were once newly born›

newly light.
I attend to what’s ahead.

I won’t return I won’t

I won’t look I won’t risk the shudder brought by what haunts.

For how quickly a streak of darkness elongates,

How quickly a crowd of death becomes a necropolis. 



*



Κεριά



Του μέλλοντος η μέρες στέκοντ’ ἐμπροστά μας

σὰν μιὰ σειρὰ κεράκια ἀναμένα —

χρυσᾶ, ζεστὰ, καὶ ζωηρὰ κεράκια.

Ἡ περασμένες μέρες πίσω μένουν,

μιὰ θλιβερὴ σειρὰ κεριῶν σβυσμένων·

τὰ πιὸ κοντὰ βγάζουν καπνὸν ἀκόμη,

κρύα κεριά, λυωμένα, καὶ κυρτά.

Δὲν θέλω νὰ τὰ βλέπω· μὲ λυπεῖ ἡ μορφή των,

καὶ μὲ λυπεῖ τὸ πρῶτο φῶς των νὰ θυμοῦμαι.

Ἐμπρὸς κυττάζω τ’ ἀναμένα μου κεριά.

Δὲν θέλω νὰ γυρίσω νὰ μὴ δῶ καὶ φρίξω

τί γρήγορα ποῦ ἡ σκοτεινὴ γραμμὴ μακραίνει,

τί γρήγορα ποῦ τὰ σβυστὰ κεριὰ πληθαίνουν.