translated by David Connolly

(The cards players startled, red-eyed like rabbits. Trapola means trap)

How did I come to be here?
On someone's account. Some common ancestor most likely.
I fancy I dint want to play. I don't recall. Oh, anyhow
It seems a simple game of cards. But
It's not always what it seems:
Often, at daybreak
Playing partners invisible amid the smoke, Gods
These too condemned in their power
Shuffle other cards.
In the word above they shuffle, cut and deal
My images and my mirrors
In poses and in dances.
Amid the smoke they shuffle, cut and deal
Different cards.

They cheat me.
Me, who's inexcusably mortal.

  Greek poets on the crisis, Smokestack Books, U.K 2013 
  edited by: Dinos Siotis