mathios paskalis among the roses

I've been smoking ceaselessly all morning

if I stop the roses will embrace me

with thorns and petals they will choke me

their growth is crooked, all eqally rose coloured

they watch, waiting for someone to arrive, but no one comes

through the smoke of my pipe I watch them:

scentless on their weary stems

in the other life a woman said to me: you may touch my hand

and this rose will be yours, it is yours, you may take it

now or later, whenever you like

still smoking I go down the steps

excitedly the roses follow me

their manner reminds me of a voice

a primeval cry, as when one first calls out

'mother!' or 'help'

or the small white groans of love

it's a small garden full of roses

a few square metres that descend with me

as I go down the steps, without the sky

and her aunt would say to her: Antigone,

you forgot your exercises today

at your age I never wore a corset, not in my time

her aunt was a pitiful creature:

protruding veins, wrinkles around the ears

and a nose which reminded one of death

but her words were always wise

one day I saw her touching Antigone's breast

like a small child sneaking an apple

is it possible that I will meet the old woman now

when I go down the steps?

when I left she said to me: who knows when we will meet again?

then I read of her death in outdated newsapapers

and of Antigone's marriage and the marriage of Antigone's daughter

without the steps coming to an end or my tabacco

which gives me that taste of a phantom ship

with a mermaid crucified to the helm while still beautiful