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Poem	Translation from Greek: Marios Dikaiakos I know that all this is worthless and that the language I speak doesn't have an alphabet Since the sun and the waves are a syllabic script which can be deciphered only in the years of sorrow and exile And the motherland a fresco with successive overlays frankish or slavic which, should you try to restore, you are immediately sent to prison and held responsible To a crowd of foreign Powers always through the intervention of your own As it happens for the disasters But let's imagine that in an old days' threshing-floor which might be in an apartment-complex children are playing and whoever loses Should, according to the rules, tell the others and give them a truth Then everyone ends up holding in his hand a small Gift, silver poem.
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