The complaint

For some reason, every year, this day I remember this poem...

I wonder sometimes:
Am I the man who thinks daily,
that I have ONE life?
Do the rest of the people forget it?
OR do they believe that they will have many,
more lives in order to gain the time that they had lost?
You must confront life with courage.
Waiting Friday followed by Saturday and Sunday in order to
live.
And then realizing, this is not enough, you end up waiting for the
holidays.
Yet also, these are not enough.
Waiting for grand moments.
Not expecting them, but waiting for them.
And then admitting that you are unlucky and life was unfair with
you.

And not realizing that there next to you, sorrows happen to other people that life chose.
To those people who never gave up and they keep on fighting.
And still not learning from their lesson.
And not feeling that you are blessed for once, cherishing three things in your life,
health, a couple of good friends, a love, a job, an activity that makes you feel that you are creating, 
giving you a reason for your existence. 
And then there you are, self-pitying that you do not have enough.
And even if you had them, you would still want more.
Believing that you learned everything but not learned to listen. 
Gathering sorrows and desparations and waking up every day feeling
saturnine. 
Fooling yourself that time is infinite.


Every day I try to see the world through your eyes.
Every day I fail.

Because I love those people who love life.
Those whose their sorrow is their power.
Those whose eyes are looking without guilt and guiltiness,
even if the passage of time was relentless to them.
Those who know that they do not know everything,
because everything is not learned.
Those who drain from nothing, everything.
For themselves and all the other people they love.
And they do not get tired, seeking out each day's beauty,
in people's smiles, in hugging animals,
in a black and white photo, in a colourful laundry.
No matter how careful someone is, no matter how long he pursues it,
it will always be late, second life does not exist.

| The Complaint, by Odysseas Elytis

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