The Poetry of Lambros Porphyras: A Selection - Triceratops Home

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The Poetry of Lambros Porphyras: A Selection 63 THE ROOM In the white room everything is now gone, and only the icon's sorrow remains on the wall. —Golgotha rises up, clouded and stormy, and on its summit, without light, dies the Crucified— And the room has taken on, in its great desolation, something of its holy icon, something of its tempest. Another kind of wildness has lashed it for ages now, as if in its depths were moaning the storm of Golgotha. —translated by Mollie Boring
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The Poetry of Lambros Porphyras: A Selection - Triceratops Home

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