Sometimes I dream I never left
My poor miserable homeland,
That I never went to the new world
Where dollars were said to be
Plentiful as leaves falling
From trees and all you had
To do was keep stooped over so
You could pick them up with ease,
And where now I dream
I wake up rich and not deformed
Beyond my wildest dreams.
another gem for me. thank you.
ReplyDeleteA quietly harrowing poem, Vassilis. Wonderful....
ReplyDeleteA beauty.
ReplyDeleteIt hurts to read it. Tough and lovely too.
ReplyDeleteI remember them well, the old Greeks in Raymond who had come to the new world young with high hopes of quickly making enough money so that they could return to the homeland much better off than they were when they left here. Only a few of them ever made it back, much older and much wiser but much too late.
ReplyDeleteThanks to you all for your positive comments.
While remembering and mourning one also might also pause to remark upon one Greek who left Raymond and America to return to the homeland in time... to save his soul.
ReplyDeleteI suppose you're right Tom; however, I must say I still get incredulous glances from stupefied strangers when they discover I left the land of opportunity at the age of 28. No one in their right mind would ever do that, right?
ReplyDelete