39 lines
1.3 KiB
Plaintext
39 lines
1.3 KiB
Plaintext
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A DAGGER
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I always carry tightly under my belt
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a small african steel dagger
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-- like those that blacks are used to playing with --
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that I bought from an old merchant in Algiers.
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I remember, as if it were now, the old shopkeeper,
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who looked like an old oil painting by Goya,
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standing next to long swords and tattered uniforms,
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saying in a hoarse voice the following words :
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"This here dagger that you want to buy
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legend has surrounded with eery stories,
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and everyone knows that those who owned it at some time,
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each has murdered one close to him.
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Don Basilio murdered Donna Julia with it,
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his beautiful wife, because she was unfaithful.
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Conte Antonio, one night, his wretched brother
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was slyly murdering with this here dagger.
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A black his young lover out of jealousy
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and some Italian sailor a Greek boatswain.
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From hand to hand it passed and into mine.
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Many things my eyes have seen, but this one makes me quiver.
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Come close and look at it, it has an anchor and a crest,
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it's light, why take it, it's not even a quarter,
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but I would advise you to buy something else."
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-- How much? -- Seven francs only. As long as you want it, take it.
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A small dagger I have tightly in my belt,
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that a whim made me make it my own;
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and because I hate no one in the world to kill,
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I am afraid lest some day I turn it against myself ...
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~ Nikos Kavvadias ~
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