The birds
Black birds,
migratory ones,
brought from places
i never got to know,
stole my very heart
on a starry night
when I ran,
body in thirst,
on the avenues of lust,
between the coordinates of their flying,
moon's own blood
that feeds of the fire,
that wasted my dreams...
And, I,
clandestine reader of the stars
on the benches of insanity,
amongst night's scratches,
keep on feeling the traces of love
that fed with fire
my extinct dreams...
In heart's place
a torn violin,
between its broken cords
notes of silence,
a soul dressed in black...
Lyrics: Vaso Brataki
Translated by Haris Paraskevopoulou