Kimon, Son of Learchus, a 22-year-old
Student of Greek Letters (In Cyrene)
“My end came when I was happy.
Ermotelis had me as his inseparable friend.
On my last days, although he pretended
that he wasn’t worried, I quite often noticed
his eyes red from crying. When he thought that
I had fallen asleep, and he would throw himself like
a madman on the edge of my bed. But we were both
young men of the same age, twenty-three years old.
Fate is a traitor. Perhaps a different passion
would have taken Ermotelis from me.
My end was good; in undivided love.”
This epitaph for Marylos Aristodemos
who died about a month ago in Alexandria
I, his cousin Kimon, received in my grief.
The writer, a poet I know, sent it to me.
He sent it to me because he knew
that I was Marylos’s relative: he knew nothing else.
My soul is full of sorrow for Marylos.
We grew up together like brothers.
I am in deep melancholy. His premature death
erased all my resentments.
All my resentments against Mayilos, even though
he stole Ermotelis’ love away from me,
so that if Ermotelis wanted me again, now
it is not the same at all. I know how sensitive
my character is. Marylos’s image
will come between us, and I will imagine
him telling me, “Look, now you are satisfied.
You have taken him back as you wanted, Kimon.
see, you no longer have a reason to slander me.”
Libros Libertad 