Hands
People rarely know
what to do with their hands
They give them – pretending a greeting- to others
They leave them hanging like nerveless outgrowths
Or – worst of all – they throw them in their pockets where they stay forgotten
In the meantime so many bodies are left uncaressed
So many poems unwritten
*”Word landscapes” (1983)
*
From inner landscapes
Joys are birds said a Chinese wise man
and the stronger they are the further they fly away.
Sorrows are trees and the bigger they are
the deeper roots they grow.
Man is soil.
Deep inside him sorrows spread roots
and he sees the joys fly away so far away from him.
*
Between my fingers
and your flesh,
no matter how tightly I hold you,
burrows time.
*
The Wood Was Just Right
The wood was just right
for us to make a house or a boat
beautiful cypress wood, aromatic,
we made a boat and we disappeared
*Translation: Allegro Shartz & Nanos Valaoritis.
