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I was reading a tiny little book
a tiny little one
so little, just like the little nail of my hand.

It was about the stars in the sky
and the glories of the universe
about the Titans and the Cronus
about the Hesperus and the Hercules

It was about Constantine and Helen
about Digenis
about all the wars
about St John’s knights
the Venetians, the Muslims.

About all the winds
that brought all the refugees
to the far end of the world
about all those who expatriated
and miss the smell of mint.

Mother country scold on me
because I am far away from you,
because I cant fight
from here with my rifle.


Mother country
let me vanish
only in a few words
only a few, and
maybe, by some chance I could expiate myself.

Only in a few words
that may fit in to my little pocket
in to my little nail

Here, in to a tiny little book.  

 

*Translated poem: TO MIKΡΟ ΒΙΒΛΙΟ