September 2020

Back to Issue 8


By Tasos Leivaditis

What I pitied most were the weathervanes, so I’d stand at the entrance of the shops waiting for them to ask me, until evening arrived, I would then take off my shoes and follow the bus from a distance — and no, I’m not talking nonsense, my friends, rather it’s the magic possessed by words when they don’t want to say anything, just as this strange journey of ours in the world would have no meaning at all were it real. 


(Translated by N.N.Trakakis)