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Wednesday, May 15, 2013



bread poorThis bread cut was once wheat

This wine upon a foreign tree

Sank wrist

Man the day or wind at night

... Stalks threw down, crushed the joy of the grape.

Once in this wine the summer blood 
beating amid the flesh covering the vines 
once the bread that 
Wheat was the wind happy. 
Man shatter the sun, the wind dragged down.

This flesh chop, this blood chyneis 
vein deserted, 
Wheat and Grape was 
Born from the sensory root and sap. 
Wine is my drink, my bread you grab.

Translation: Maria Archimandritou

from tadeefi.wordpress.com by my dear friend Efi Georgopoulou 
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