So ripe is this moment
with the setting sun
making your hair golden.
Your shadow crosses my face soflty.
Light steps in the clearing of happiness.
A piece of burning love
with a newfound determination.
A caress to a caring
and sweet desire.
The sound of a warm melody.
Our heart’s whispers rest peacefully
in the sunlight.
A rose on the lapel
of a golden red sunset.
A farewell to today.
And a kiss on your lips.

Αγγλική μετάφραση Ντίνα Γερολύμου

Το ελληνικό πρωτότυπο δημοσιεύεται εδώ https://tokoskino.wordpress.com/2011/08/31/%CF%84%CE%BF-%CE%AC%CE%BA%CE%BF%CF%85%CF%83%CE%BC%CE%B1-%CE%BC%CE%B9%CE%B1%CF%82-%CE%B6%CE%B5%CF%83%CF%84%CE%AE%CF%82-%CE%BC%CE%B5%CE%BB%CF%89%CE%B4%CE%AF%CE%B1%CF%82/

no hesitation
on slippery moments

definite footsteps
dipped in firelighters

no rocking
in cold rythmes

no invisible wound
at screamings of menopause

attempt of revolt
against narcissist crevices

undermining by roaring
of the central pillar

14/3/2007

Defining the undefined
decomposing the inseparable
connecting the unconnected
pushing the trackless
celebrating the uncelebrated

all these together
and deserting
beneath the nose
of the multinationals

crossing attempt
the freeways
without a fight

Winter of gleaming buildings
cold of the colorless walls
illustrative boredom
class castles
second hand materials
an example of high architectural
the turning points
nowadays.

…into the darkness
of exploitation
a scream of a prosperous
history of a rough vigilance
loses in horror
a promised night
strange characters
lives of forgiveness
adventures into the empty
ludicrous chasm
adoring their siblings

the question is when
this hostility
is going to an end…

July 2011

I wonder if
grammatical rules
are able
to lead us off
procrustean solutions
nationally interesting

I wonder if
there is a balance
to keep us alive
if there are words
to take us away
from false caresses
and keys of disease

I wonder if
punctuation
can cross with
the kisses
of a previous love
if dots, tones
and exclamation marks
may award endless
relations with our idol.

1
melancholic mornings
idols of refusal
the guiltiness
of the previous night

2
mornings as receivers
transmitters of messages
with roots in the past
of the previous day

3
the mornings in the mirror
your avatar is rooting about
in the shining memories
theories of yesterday

4
in the mornings you gather
your wakefulness dose
and the drops
of the nightlife love

5
mornings twinkling
breath of reflection
for the future is coming
in burning hours

Our secret histories
are sailing upstream
in seas of disaster

The anthems for our culture
are not exceed the limits
of the harbour
breathes hard
like certain suspicions
of modern poetry
without metre and future.

The flashes from our stars
cannot be conducted like a duet
as they only reflect
tuneless bodies
of palaeontological orchestras.

The return to holy landscapes
is a ring through the nose
like a bell hung
in a belfry
as a messenger of doom.

Perhaps life is given birth by wounds
perhaps the love for ourselves
brings on the love by the other…

However Oedipus complex fears
hover into the perpetual time
as stolen children’s games

as barren strained expressions
as seduction of senses

statuesque eavesdroppers
who bug our inspirations.

There are some books with figures
like days leaving discretely
inconspicuous heroes of fairy tales
insignificant paint-brushes
in colour feasts

like indicators of public clocks
which through minutes and seconds
compose the sharing of everyone of us
in the chain of life and death.