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A Ioannes Sakellaridis, que nunca volvió a Ithaca.
A los pies de Lefkós Pýrgos
Ioannes contempla el mar.
Su padre se fue de pesca
hacia el Delta Aliakmonás.
Él sueña con ser pescador
en marea que viene y va.
No sabe que su destino
no está atado a pescar
pues dejará padre y madre
buscando la libertad
y en un barco ya sin redes
navegará allende el mar.
Allá lejos, en el poniente
yace la fría inmensidad
Olas de otras espumas
y las aguas del merlán
y tierras desconocidas,
caña, montes, y el yerbal.
¡Qué lejos está esa tierra!
¡Qué lejos será la sal!
Extrañará para siempre
velamen y el vendaval
que hacía temblar la barca
sobre barras de coral.
Y en un idioma ignoto
llorará su pesar.
A la sombra de Lefkós Pýrgos
Ioannes contempla el mar.
Ioannes espera a su padre.
Pronto atardecerá.
To Ioannes Sakellaridis, who never returned to Ithaca.
At the foot of Lefkós Pýrgos
Ioannes observes the sea.
His father went fishing
to the delta by the reef.
He dreams of being a fisherman
on the tide that never sleeps.
He doesn´t know that his fate
is not tied to the fish
for he will leave father and mother
looking forward to be free
and in a ship without nets
he will sail beyond the sea.
Far away in the west
lies the cold immensity
Waves of other foams
other waters he can't see
and lands he never heard of
and the yerba, and the trees.
Far away lies that land!
Far away from his beach!
Forever he will miss
gulls, sail and the wind
that made the boat tremble
over ropes, nets and fins.
And in an unknown language
he will have to dry his tears.
In the shadow of Lefkós Pýrgos
Ioannes observes the sea.
Ioannes waits for his father.
In the horizon the sun disappears.
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