Iannis Ritsos, Epilogical (Eπιλογικό)

'Hold me in memory' is what He said.

Thousands of leagues I walked

without bread, without water, upon rocks and thorns,
to bring you all bread and water — oh, and roses (the beauty
I never forsook).

What belonged to me, I allotted out fairly.

My own portion I didn't keep. Poor, perfectly poor. With a lily-of-the-field
I shed light on our harshest nights. Remember me.

And forgive me this last painful thought: I wish I could,

one more time, with the moon's slender little scythe, reap
a ripened sheaf of wheat — wish I could stand on the threshold, wish I could
gaze,
and sink my front teeth into the kernel of each grain,
admiring and blessing this world that I'm letting go

— admiring Him, too, who ascends the hill toward the all-golden sunset. Look:
on his left sleeve there's a square crimson patch! That
doesn't show up very clearly. That's, above all, what I wanted to show you all.
And perhaps that's why, above all, it would be worth remembering me.

(tr. Bill Berg)