Monday, December 8, 2008


Yannis Ritsos

Days went by. The ship’s sail snapped in the wind.
The rope wore through. We gave up watering the trees.
They withered in no time, leaving neither fruit nor leaf.
Women grew old. Tiny snails
made their way up the walls. When at last we descended
to clear out the well—there was nothing there
but decayed dampness and a heap of rusty buckets.
We removed them. But the water had dried up.

May 29, 1968
Partheni concentration camp

from Stones [Collected Poems:I ]

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