His memory is for others,
for me he is still alive.

I hold out my hand above the abyss.
I just had time to get to know you a little,
before ending your life, so abruptly.
Shadows of shadows though we are, Elias,
I want to mourn for what we left unsaid,
as you now send me words from afar.

If I believed in afterlife,
it would be easier for me, more merciful to mourn.
But now, atheism is the only faith.
My thoughts return to what you had 
half-written, in order to discover the secret
meaning of death and life, Elias.

From the shady streets of Préveza
you wave to me, to the company of poets
I commemorate daily; recitation
rises like a supplication and you play for me
a secret tune on an itinerant’s accordion -
I come across you wherever I go, Elias.

Though dead, you still pull the strings of our life.
Behold your organized troupe
- now we write your own uncompleted writings.
Your death suggests our limits.
The magnetic spirit, which may
become energy and circulate.