In these darkened rooms, where I spend
oppressive days, I pace to and fro
to find the windows. When a window
opens, it will be a consolation.
But the windows cannot be found, or I cannot
find them. And maybe it is best that I do not find them.
Maybe the light will be a new tyranny.
Who knows what new things it will reveal.
Konstantinos Kavafis, Τα παράθυρα/The windows/Prozori, 1903.
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