At the old Nikosia
I felt your solitude,
the pain not overcoming
the limits of your heart.

In a guardhouse near- by
and in our moments’ station
I touched with the kisses
the memory that had outburst.

The hours were lost, noon broke out.

I climbed the stairs of pain
and upon the walls of sadness
the wounds of time hurt me.

I went down to the old houses
and walked the roads of the past
to find our memory inside wilderness.

The oblivion shed tears, the summer cried.