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. . .

Trains whistle

a loud roar from the four corners of the world

thousands of hands grab and chime the bells

men without limbs grab with their teeth and

          pull the ropes

women grab their babies and raise them up

          like banners

wind blows their hair

the wind unfolds their hair like a flag

we want to saw

we want to weave

we want to give birth




The wind rips the clouds open

and suddenly a waterfall of rain falls

on this ravaged multitude of people

we knead the dough though we don’t

          have bread

we extract coal from the mine though

          we are always cold

we are the destitute

who come to conquer the world



we the proletariat


The future, like a lightning bolt, plough

          the capitals;

cities widen when pushed by the elbows

          of the crowd

passing shadows fall roughly onto the buildings

          like spades

this roar is the pulse of the highest fever

you could say the same future walks today


Nostrils of blind men from behind their darkness

smell this sun that starts rising

we who tumble down from scaffolds

we are buried in the stoas of mines

we who fall screaming amid the melted steel



the wind that sweeps us tonight

comes from our breaths and our bellows


Thousands of people march on




not believing in God

carrying their strength like a new enormous God

we who curse all the sanctuaries of the world

we who sing in all the languages of the world




People march on from all corners of the world

tumbling borders with their thick soles

designing with their callused hands

the wide gestures of the new world destiny

upon the red horizon


and the wind follows them

the great wind follows them

the great wind follows them roaring




P e a c e.


from "It Blows Over the Crossroads of the World"

Manolis Aligizakis, translation from
the Greek written by Tasos Livaditis

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