DimÃtris Houliarákis
From: Superga is Waiting (1987)
The Black Box
among the hapless smoldering wreckage
who will gently lift it out and then
who will delve into it solemnly
to analyse the causes of our tragedy.
Yet even if this is done what the benefit
since what was meant to be became
since pale we search the shattered
flagstones of our youth
and now we know no one
now we ask for nothing.
Yes better that the black box
of our lives be never found
better that it rot away somewhere in the fields
while the silent grass grows up around
till it's quite covered
and all that remains is a
hump in the ground.
Translated by John C. Davies
Page(s) 148
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