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rough translation



in this mutual depreciation

we both caught the same virus,

we don’t have common visions,

we are two different voids,

that resemble each other in deterioration.


Song of Piraeus, insuperable,

in our cold, loveless, sleepless night,

traversed the creepy years,

little grass joints and little breathed in kisses,

an empty glass remains, just refill it.


This year rolls, doesn’t come again,

gods of the Dorians, if you exist,

take me into  clear sleepless nights,

into loneliness' diaphanous waters,

as my every memory will be coming back.


And I will make it my regular concern

to record her every petty crime,

a galleon without slaves on the oars,

I’ll fight every inhumanity,

and so, let Apollo's will be done.

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