DimÃtris Houliarákis
From: The Remains of the Days (1994)
In a Portrait of El Faiyum
your black hair in the sand quite
faded your lips are cold
your rosy cheeks now funerary white.
Lovely face who may you be
what your descent what woes brought you down
what bodies tasted the joy of your touch.
Cherished face I have naught for you
but tender words; you're like me
you alone in this cold museum mausoleum
I too alone in the wilderness of the world.
Translated by John C. Davies
Page(s) 151
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