Τρίτη, 22 Φεβρουαρίου 2011

Monday morning

Monday morning. You wake up from one of those twisting and turning nights, filled with these bizarre dreams that signal that the dawn ahead has something installed for you. You don’t quite realize the consequence of those dreams, because they’re dreams and they might be bullshitting you, like they do most of the times. But this particular Monday, the dreams weren’t lying. They transformed into prophets of doom.

This ill-fated Monday morning, I had wished to wake up with a smile and a new beginning. Instead I received a crack-of-dawn phone call; you know that when you receive one of such calls, that something bad has happened, but you just don’t know what. A familiar voice at the other end of the line bade me good morning, asked me how I was, and then delivered the bad news. A death. A family death. An expected family death. But still, a death.

Struggling with an impeding depression, and having spent quite a good deal how to prevent it, hearing about these news only came to enhance the numbness and hollowness inside. Words have no significance in such moments. No matter how many condolences and comfort you try to offer, no matter how sorry you say you are, no matter how grieved or kind you appear to be, it really bears no significance in those moments. All words sound like words of the wind, which are fleeting and of no consequence. Still, you say them. Not because is only expected of you, but because it is your only way of forming the feeling of sadness into a social shape.

Giving out condolences is a dreary thing. Feeling them is another. This Monday morning the word ‘my condolences’ came to take another meaning; it came to represent not only the loss for the soul which had just departed this vain planet but also the loss of all the other souls which have to bear a silent pain from now on, and who have to struggle to carry on, with the grief and their memories.

This Monday did not start as it was planned. No one prepares you for death. Even when you expect it, the sharpness of its coming, does stay with you. I don’t know exactly what happens to the soul once it departs from the human body, but I’d like to think that for this particular soul, it has gone somewhere peaceful, where it could suffer no more with all these vain human illnesses that have withered its flesh for so many decades.

May this soul rest in peace, in all sense and meaning, and may all the living souls that are left behind, garner the strength and the will to endure…

For a great warrior…an uncle!

Κυριακή, 6 Φεβρουαρίου 2011

Ναυσικά και Οδυσσέας




Σφραγίζω τα χείλη μου
Και σ’ αυτή τη συνέχεια δε δίνω φως
Δε θέλω να κάνω άνοιγμα στο μαύρο κουτί
Γιατί μόνο μια ψεύτικη ελπίδα ζει
Θα γονατίσω και θα κλάψω προσευχές
Να είναι η ζωή σου γιομάτη χερουβείμ
Να σε προσέχουν στα ταξίδια σου τ’ αλαργινά
Δε θέλω να μιλήσω για την ελπίδα απόψε
Καταριέμαι την ιερότητα των υποσχέσεων
Απλά μόνο να σε ζήσω...
Να περιπλανηθώ σα μικρή Ναυσικά στα ταξίδια σου
Να δωθώ στις απατηλές κατάρες σου
Στα κρούσματα των περιπετειών σου
Δε θέλω να μιλήσω για μελένια λόγια
Μόνο να κοιτάξω τη φεγγαρομάνα που σ’ αγγαλιάζει
Καθώς γητεύεις με τις ωραιότητες σου τα γινάτια μου
Δε θέλω η ελπίδα να σταθεί εχθρός μας
Ούτε η σάρκα να ποθήσει το ανεξουσίαστο
Δε θέλω να σε έχουν τα όνειρα μου
Γιατί θα πνιγώ στην ματαιότητα και τη παράνοια τους
Θέλω να σε έχω για το χρόνο που δε σβήνει
Για την ύλη που μπορώ να αισθανθώ επάνω μου
Μη βιαστείς να γίνεις νεφέλη και σα μίζερη σκιά να με στολίσεις
Μη βιαστείς στη Πηνελόπη σου να πας να γείρεις
Γιατί ετούτη η ζεστάδα στις δικές μου τις αγκάλες φλέγεται
Με έντονα μοιρολόγια θέλει η νύχτα μου να σε δεχτεί
Ο κρίνος δε με καρτερεί εμέ
Μα οι υάκινθοι πλέουν σαν χαλάζι στην ψυχεδέλεια μου
Και παλεύω να σε σφραγίσω έξω από τις ανθρώπινες πύλες μου
Να σε ξοδέψω για να τραφούν οι στάχτες μου
Να χορτάσω από τα κόκκινα δάκρυα μου τις σιωπές σου
Σα θα φύγεις Οδυσσέα μου
Τη μικρή μου τη Φωκίς δε θα λησμονήσεις
Με λίθους της ανθρώπινης μάνας θα γεράσεις
Και σα με βρεις σε πέτρες ν’ αναπνέω πια
Θα γείρεις στα πέταλα μου και θα κλάψεις.

Σάββατο, 5 Φεβρουαρίου 2011

The Warrior & the Dragon



‘Tis the dullness of a wistful sun

Pending on idle hearts with absent minds

Steel of will orbiting in the kingdom come

Bravery battles for a man-made reward

The jewel island has yielded to blackness

Till the Moor struggles out its very last hope

Beaconing for a human heart

Pumping and bloody to become a savior

Tell-tale signs of a chimed grandfather clock

To whom this oddity is brushed off

How should the rays of enlinghtment touch thee?

When nymphs have dressed thee in black waters

Oh Birdy, my birdy, thy journey thus far is a naught,

Crossing hearts and minds

Blasting truths and dares.

“Abandon ship”, the Master said,

By the death of the intern our salvation is at hand,

But without thee ‘tis only a broken wasteland.

Spelling our good-byes hastily

In the wrong neglected scriptures,

Discarding the immortal wine from the Silver Cup

Solitude hands us firmly for her whim,

Spiking the innocence of us for her wanton sport,

Crashing beauty and all her trims

For thee I prayed the winds would crack

To lead thee in a green chaos of ambition

Leaving my animal heart in a vain collision

North winds blew with their iron cheeks,

Thus tempted mine passions,

For the resurrected poetry

How not to bloom thou hast taught me,

Taunting has transformed into sweet surrender

A blind man’s buff thus this life will always be.

Exile is a dreadful delight,

For the one who cherishes nothing more

Than the release and rebirth of the spirit.

An Easter Island has thrown me in tempest

Crafting spells and gospels

Leaving my tyrant to an incessant frenzied service

Why, how should you die so fertile in thy prime?

My ingenious dragon your earth has lied to thee,

In bitterness thou shalt live till Kingdoms sleeps.

‘Tis a grey soul that will wrinkle in your calling

A warrior of light, was once called by its sweetheart,

Before the maid found her sudden end, she prayed for Light.

A certain Britomarte shall be thy salvation;

If thou shalt let her Light guide thee out of the shadows,

To walk with thee to the galactic gallows.

The honeyed-guillotine awaits us, dear Shepherd;

Follow the trail of the entwined souls,

That bid thee Farewell, with their dying hallows.

Sardonic Rhythm




Across the cement stars
The moon unknown burst
To cover the phony poets in their dark
Whose drowning sodomy was cursed

The beautified flesh made its warm entrance
Spreading its dumbfoundment among the loyals
No virginosity stood in its encumbrance
No healing of their decaying mortal oaths

Pace and rhythms shifted their existence
Yearning for an enlightened renaissance of humans
What came not in their path has now blinded them
Penetrating their follies in their resistance

The Worm Story





Whether wither whether blooms it has now faded
One spring worm roams the familiar gutters in wonder
Whether rain whether sunshine its face may cover
Magnanimous flames will always its heart burn
Whether senselessness or unkindness surrounds it
No martyrdoms or dirges are its prayer
Whether May or February circles his small existence
It shall always give faith in the One truth instead of his distance

The Dove






There it stood to sing

Its blue melody in the mists

The Dove flapping its wings

Dressed in the odour of spring

Chirping away the living vanity

Humming to the sun's eve

Wallowing for unjust atrocities

The Dove laid in its eternal sleep

As the silence now was yellow deep.