Πόσο ζει ένας άνθρωπος? Ένα δέντρο, ένα κατσικάκι πόσο ζουν? Πόσο ζει μια ιδέα? Ένα μνημείο πόσο ζει? Αν λιώσουν οι πάγοι κι εξαφανιστεί η μισή γη, πόσο καιρό θα το θυμάται ο άνθρωπος? Τις στάχτες της Ολυμπίας σε ποιο ανθέμιο θα τις τοποθετήσουμε? Ποιος αγαπάει την Ελλάδα περισσότερο? Εμείς ή οι επισκέπτες της? Ποιος θεωρείται ήρωας και ποιος απερίσκεπτος? Αξίζει να πεθάνεις για να σώσεις πέντε δέντρα απ’ τη φωτιά? Τι σημαίνει για τον καθένα το χώμα που πατάει? Το χώμα που γεννήθηκε, που κατάπιε παίζοντας όταν ήταν παιδί? Το χώμα, το δέντρο, το νερό, ο αέρας, το κατσικάκι που νοεί πατρίδα? Τι κουβαλάει ο άνθρωπος στα κύτταρά του ώστε με το ένα χέρι να καταστρέφει και με το άλλο να υπεραμύνεται?
Θρηνώ. Κλαίω που μου έλαχε να βιώσω την καταστροφή. Θέλω να πετάξω την ευθύνη από πάνω μου. Να είχα γεννηθεί εκατό χρόνια νωρίτερα για να μη την αντικρίσω. Να γεννιόμουν εκατό χρόνια μετά και να την διάβαζα επιδερμικά στα βιβλία και τα μυθιστορήματα. Γιατί αυτό το βάρος της ευθύνης? Γιατί αυτές οι ενοχές?
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Victim of intimacy
Fine! Call me a nut-case
load the sins on my back
after all you’re good in words
only to hear the key on the lock
your footsteps on the stairway
to scent you behind the door
the bed’s too big for me
my chest too spacious
my loneliness unbearable
I’m not afraid to open my heart
accept you look down on me
no worse than you been gone
that’s who I was and always be
to the ones before and may be after you
a victim of intimacy.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Longing...
What use is the pen if writes silly
what good is the mouth if speaks loud
what need is the eyes if glance darkness
what purpose is the ears if listen nonsense
what worths a mind if thinks individual
what kind of emotion penetrates the hard skin?
I want my fairy-tails back
my wooden toys
the broken promises
to change present into future past
vocabulary at hand
to interpret the between the lines void
to reshape the words I’m fed with
crowd of lonely souls
all charged positive repeling each other
the half-full oxymoron.
what good is the mouth if speaks loud
what need is the eyes if glance darkness
what purpose is the ears if listen nonsense
what worths a mind if thinks individual
what kind of emotion penetrates the hard skin?
I want my fairy-tails back
my wooden toys
the broken promises
to change present into future past
vocabulary at hand
to interpret the between the lines void
to reshape the words I’m fed with
crowd of lonely souls
all charged positive repeling each other
the half-full oxymoron.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Draw-back
The book lays still in counted pages
the turning hands are also there
those to be seen patiently waiting
but reluctant eyes choose not to stare
as vespers cuddle the rippled brine
driving turtles away from shore
pilgrims stay aloof the blood-shed
to carve the path of the winning God
shooting dreams to disintegration
grinded tombs of somewhen hopes
heads are bending kind of awkward
driven by the tight lashed ropes
saviors buy a disdained moon for nickles
building refugee huts on the bright side
pines burst their juice in tears
cause humans can’t recall to cry
tongues rest numb inside their hollows
since now words are made of stone
shadows reckon among the threshold
to cloak the ones that must be shown
the turning hands are also there
those to be seen patiently waiting
but reluctant eyes choose not to stare
as vespers cuddle the rippled brine
driving turtles away from shore
pilgrims stay aloof the blood-shed
to carve the path of the winning God
shooting dreams to disintegration
grinded tombs of somewhen hopes
heads are bending kind of awkward
driven by the tight lashed ropes
saviors buy a disdained moon for nickles
building refugee huts on the bright side
pines burst their juice in tears
cause humans can’t recall to cry
tongues rest numb inside their hollows
since now words are made of stone
shadows reckon among the threshold
to cloak the ones that must be shown
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