Post-war literature witnessed the absurd and the inhuman lurking within humanity. A sign of the inhumanity of existence is not only the desire to exterminate the different. It is also the loss of memory. Oblivion is an atmosphere of enviable comfort. But the loss of memory is death.

Poetry is a universe with a past and a future. All poetic voices narrate fear, the trajectory of erotic dreams, pain, and the shocking beauty, triumph, and melancholic extinguishing of every existence. We are the pawns of a civilization that is dying in the mold of its sameness, unable to reproduce itself, having exterminated the last primitive tribe that survived on the planet, thus exterminating its own primitive soul in the face of poetry.

A reissue after thirty years does not resurrect the book in the same world where it first saw the light. And this means something for its content, which calls us to reflect on it.

The poet Takis Sinopoulos, a public doctor, during his time, was well aware of the Greek reality both in the provinces and in the capital. He knew firsthand the misfortunes of Greek life, the mistakes and deception in politics, the deficits of society, the disgraceful classism in a country that insists on maintaining an immature democratic regime, up to the present day.

The poet willingly went into solitude, so as not to drink from the cisterns meant for the many. He did not seek to take the place of another who was superior, nor to devour the inferior. He only sought the "superior" to show him the respect he deserved. The first is war. The second, democracy.

(From the Introduction and Prolegomena)