Keramoti by Ralph de Smit

On the flatness of Keramoti I wrote one for her,

my Hindu poem for a lapsed Catholic from Mumbai.

I had gone to the Chaldikis after she left Athens,

hoping to see the monasteries of Mount Athos,

ended up in Mohammed Ali’s mosque in Kavala;

passed the oil rigs in the mist on the boat toThasos;

camped on the hill above the quarries of Aliki;

swam over sea urchins massed on marble beds.

Then on to Keramoti where in the salt marshes

land and sea merge all along the absent shore,

and with a glass of retsina in the rose orange dusk

I pleaded for a boon: Sati my love, let us be one.


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