translated by the poet

 

mourning on holidays
a trinket on the tree’s invisible branch
the doh sounded by a child singing the Christmas carol
the merry-go-round at night under the lights
the steaming hot loaf smelling of butter and cinnamon

be duly careful
while going about your holiday routine
place with precision (and above all, fairness)
the tree-lamps
block out melodious voices sounding notes of times past
prefer a skating rink instead of colourful horselets
- there’ s always a chance of falling there –

most importantly, bake your own bread,
no excessive condiment,
- mourning knows only too well how to insinuate itself
into harmless objects –
so you stand a good chance of avoiding
a violent clash

(Sundays are always there, anyway)

 

    Melani ston ouranisko (Ink-stained palate), Melani Pubs, 2015