For my brother Tasos Livaditis
In awe you have waited for them. And they’ve come.
Your dead have come to take you
in the light night drizzle. You stood for a while
under the street lamp at Metaxourgio square
listening to the voices of drunks coming from taverns
and the old folk songs you loved and
from far away the rebellious slogans
of the construction workers on strike
calm, at last, completely hidden
under the shadow of that flag
that the shouting populace had raised. Now
you’re asleep with a deep smile, knowing
the dead don’t grow old anymore
they neither lie nor die.
However who will console our sorrow
as we stand isolated before the locked door?