Three mundane objects. A candle stub, a Metro ticket and a small Greek flag . . .

Flickering disconnection.
Candle casting cut-off
shadows
of waxen poverty.
Poor substitute
for poor people.
Hands it will not warm,
hearts it cannot gladden,
eyes that turn in desolation from
such guttering despair.
We who gave democracy
have nothing left to give.

From Monastriki,
commercial hustle, to
Agios Demitrios,
desperate bustle.
Metro stations heading south,
life-line heading down.
Ενα ευρω σαραντα is all it takes
and takes and takes and takes.
Ενα ευρω σαραντα the demand
to ride, to slide, from prosperity to
the end of the line.
And it strikes home,
as workers strike,
and strike and strike again

Konstantinos Koukidis
is still alive
in Greek hearts,
flagged up for our country,
hero for posterity.
So wrapped in our own blue and white
we all must jump,
jump now,
to our destiny,
rather than surrender,
surrender our souls.

Fight Merkel jackboot,
fight Troika bonds,
fight Papandreou legacy.
We heroes aspiring to be Greeks, fight
οur fathers’ foe with changed weapons
for changing times. So
Burn the Candle.
Validate the ticket.
Fly the Flag.
Ελευθερωνω Ελλαδα !