Silence is pain
a frame for remnants of feelings
a paper tower
collapses by the time…
I grew up beside crosses
I walked with chains in my brain
and tied to my breath
naked in front of slaughters
and dances of lies
where myths hanged
from the balconies
…as patriotic flags
for national anniversaries.
The hours rolled on without us counting them
and when everything overturned as we were playing
hide-and-seek with a moment’s fate,
we tried to avoid the city’s lights.
We had to keep our breathing tight,
tottering in these difficult hours,
diving in the ocean of underground glances.
We were grieving for the untouched pregnant wound
we were angered by the unexpected death
of a night butterfly in the harbour’s depths
we succumbed to the brains of those science experts
giving them our being as a spark
on the burned pages of our life.
It was cold on these bridges
under our fearful eyelids
as the night stood implacable
and crossroads of next day betrayed us.
Something broke on the pavement
of our inner existence
and we were left to befall nothing
as the unexpected encircled us
like a knife, it cut us in two
a chopped moon and a pale truth.
It was not the silence scared us
but a sound struck as a cry
of our errors who walked in a blind course
as the desperate rain
fought to compete in the broiling heat.
What truth can we hide
and in which boat can we board,
which remnants of our senses can we rescue
and which of our ashes can we chase away without hesitation?
Which narrow streets of the abyss
of our fate and youth can we follow
and which laughter should we wear
when this night’s shiver
doesn’t allow us to live
the joy of the life’s overflowing glass?
I want to build a truth in my heart
the one that for years I have been looking for
at those moments when I patiently accompany
my embraces.
Against the murder completed
when the red of the sky
becomes mauve and then black
so that you can’t distinguish it
from the chimneys
of those blackened factories.
Against this suddenly forged dominates
the rhythms and symbols
like the horrible breath of poverty
like the haze-looking faces
on imprints and recollections.
Following the glance of pleasure
the edges of the black clouds
are rolling beyond the sun
leaving it free
and we know well that
it is not a coincidence we are swimming
in muddy water-holes.
Because there are sayings go beyond a reading
circulate inside us as blood
with a tide of will and imagination
as transparent as our gazes into infinity.
I will engrave my secrets on your body
and those testified to me by the sun, I will stamp
and those sung to me by the birds, I will paint
I will not behold the light as threads of darkness
I will only travel on the feathers of nightingales
No more tears turned to mist in the wind
no more sadness in the valleys of thought
no more souls lost in the feeble rime of sunrise
no more veins on iron screens…
For I come from rains and hurricanes
a fugitive from thirsty wells
disembarked from hypocritical lips
and I came to reap the fruits of our own love.
Our passions drank us unconsciously
by their trembling flow
into every first leap of love.
Tossed passions
sea-kissed and starlit
into our life’s innumerable kilometers
making us crazed and underdogs,
hermits and street-urchins,
prostitutes and bank robbers,
drinkers and chars,
strangers and beggars
who take their steps where they want
as a bearing and foundation
of every undisclosed adventure.
Blissful are those who seek
together the kingdom of magic
to inherit their passions as a suntrap
and not as tasteless and colourless splinters
of a vague future.
In the half-lighted corners
of old buildings
recollect deprived loves
emigrated and exiled
in unknown places
with a renovated arrogance…
Suffering, confinement
and tormenting
morally debts exceeded
the meaning of life.
Pictures, words, gestures
the crowd itself
dragged by
sudden gusts
suspended storms.
An existence is all together
and vice versa
with dreams, prayers, sighs
embedded
nude, defiant and vigorous.
This is the debt
like a smell
from a freshened dust
and unfolded bedsheets
after the morning fog
we unfolded everything
in the sun
just arrived
and it is like celebrating
the recollections of our ancestors
transparent glances
lakes against the ill
spring waters
and the heart
gathering all around
the sunbeams
and us settled
into their fringes
8/1/2006
To Koskino 
