No one can challenge me.
No one can throw a spear like the son of Peleus.
No shield is bloodier than my own.
Yet the boatman waits for me.
I have quarreled with Hector, the tamer of horses.
My Myrmidons are the bravest in all of the land.
The grass of Troy is rich with the husbands, sons, fathers, and brothers of Priam’s kingdom.
I fear no man or god.
Not Apollo nor Zeus.
But the boatman doesn’t care.
He waits for me.
He has brought many to Hades.
The heroes, the villains, the warriors.
But not me.
He’s waiting.
Time is infinite for the man with the paddle.
The old man with the blue-grey skin, the uncleansed bear and the uncombed hair.
Thanks Paris.
For shooting me in the heel.
Now I have two coins on my eyes. Now, the River Styx is my home…forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem