On me I always carry fastened inside my belt
an olden african steel knife
like those the blackamoors use to fiddle with
that I have bought from an aged merchant in Algiers

I remember, as if it is now, the aged antique dealer
who resembled an old oil painting by Goya,
standing next to long swords and torn uniforms,
saying with a gruff voice the following words:

"This knife, here, that you want to buy
is girdled by the legend with weird stories,
and everybody knows that whoever posessed it,
each one has killed a person close to him.

Don Basilio killed with this Donna Julia,
his beauteous wife because she was cheating on him.
Conte Antonio, one night, his poor brother,
with this knife he furtively murdered him

A blackamoor his young lover out of jealousy
and an Italian sailor a Greek boatswain.
Hand to hand it befall in my own hands
My eyes have seen a lot, but this brings me fright

Lean over and have a look, it has an anchor and a heraldry,
it's light, do lift it, weighs less than a quart,
but I would advise you to buy something else."
- How much? - Just seven francs. Since you want it here you are.

I carry a small dagger fastened inside my belt,
that a whim has driven me to make it mine,
and since I don't hate anybody in the world to kill,
I'm afraid that maybe sometime I'll turn it against myself

06/26/2013

Posted on 06/27/2013
Copyright © 2025 Con Gkekas