|Yannis Ritsos's calendar, week of the Polytechnic uprising and junta repression, 16-22 November 1973|
Heavy silence, punctured by shots, bitter city,
blood, fire, the fallen door, the smoke, the vinegar
Who will say I am waiting from the interior darkness.
Little rope-walkers with big shoes and a bandage of fire on the forehead
red wire, red bird, the lonely dog in the isolated suburbs,
as the palest day dawns behind the smoke-painted statues
and the last scream is heard, dissolved on the avenues
behind the tanks, inside the scattered shots.
So how can you sleep? How can you then sleep?
How slowly the knife grows. He who is silent,
it isn't that he has nothing to say
it isn't the twelve nails on the wall, the locust in the glass
it is that he is waiting for his jaws to unclench.
Translated by Lenin Reloaded.