Memory Pleats
Since many forgotten things
lurked in the pleats
of our memory
we all knew the meaning
of the forbidden fruit and
we followed a blind man
as if we needed an error-free guide
in the gleam of the twenty first century
while him, with the severed arm,
hid behind the robin’s song
as if to decipher our thoughts
when we often sat
by our eastern balcony
to enjoy the fresh breeze
of the August evening, when
it was truly obvious we couldn’t
fool the children anymore
Manolis Aligizakis
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