A Ioannes Sakellaridis, que nunca volvió a Ithaca.

A los pies de Lefkós Pýrgos

Ioannes contempla el mar.

Su padre se fue de pesca

hacia el Delta Aliakmonás.

Él sueña con ser pescador

en marea que viene y va.

No sabe que su destino

no está atado a pescar

pues dejará padre y madre

buscando la libertad

y en un barco ya sin redes

navegará allende el mar.

Allá lejos, en el poniente

yace la fría inmensidad

Olas de otras espumas

y las aguas del merlán

y tierras desconocidas,

caña, montes, y el yerbal.

¡Qué lejos está esa tierra!

¡Qué lejos será la sal!

Extrañará para siempre

velamen y el vendaval

que hacía temblar la barca

sobre barras de coral.

Y en un idioma ignoto

llorará su pesar.

A la sombra de Lefkós Pýrgos

Ioannes contempla el mar.

Ioannes espera a su padre.

Pronto atardecerá.

To Ioannes Sakellaridis, who never returned to Ithaca.

At the foot of Lefkós Pýrgos

Ioannes observes the sea.

His father went fishing

to the delta by the reef.

He dreams of being a fisherman

on the tide that never sleeps.

He doesn´t know that his fate

is not tied to the fish

for he will leave father and mother

looking forward to be free

and in a ship without nets

he will sail beyond the sea.

Far away in the west

lies the cold immensity

Waves of other foams

other waters he can't see

and lands he never heard of

and the yerba, and the trees.

Far away lies that land!

Far away from his beach!

Forever he will miss

gulls, sail and the wind

that made the boat tremble

over ropes, nets and fins.

And in an unknown language

he will have to dry his tears.

In the shadow of Lefkós Pýrgos

Ioannes observes the sea.

Ioannes waits for his father.

In the horizon the sun disappears.