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My silent days

Oh, how I cherish
my long and silent days
sitting by the window
Forsaken by the plights and all
exempted of the world’s misfortunes.
But why is it that every time I see
that little boat outside
shaken as it is
by the cold and wind
lashed by the leaden rain,
I cannot help but feel envious
of its triumphant shudder
the bristle of it’s trembling hull
and all the more I am coveting
this magnificent
and prideful ardor.



As time went by
and she was still waiting
for the unattainable to happen,
while lost in the lushness
of her doubtful thoughts
and confusion was turning gradually
to an alternate state of mind,
It is then that she was scolded,
rebuked fiercely by her senses
to subject to her defeat,
resign to his oblivion.
But even then,
through this self-questioning
her innermost self
thrusts her once more to
the sweetness of delusion.



But what time really is it?
She persistently kept asking.
Having exhausted it
with all her questions,
her gruelling obstinacy
along with an urgent mood,
time answered wearily:
«What is it with you
and your adherence to me,
why do you obsess about me?
«But every now and then,
I ask about your essence
and all you keep doing,
is giving me the time!»



Αnticipating his return,
hir rebirth
or resurrection
in a new land
that is expected
to be promised,
on a patch of earth,
that is hoped
to be fertile
to host her squandered
seeds of (mis)trust
and (dis)illusion.


Scattered thoughts

Disarrayed thoughts,
troubled and persistent.
like fragments
of broken glass
cutting through her fingers.
like scalding sand
slipping off one’s frail hand.
Tomorrow, she says, tomorrow
I shall try collecting them once more!



Beguiling is the wind
that blows her scent to him
and spreads her night whispers.
Although at times,
at many times, he fears
they are not addressed to him
nor meant nor dedicated..

Yet, he does eavesdrop them
while relishing the resonance
of their warming sound
that stirs the memory
of such embrace!

Beguiling is the distance
that separates them.
what is it?
One two miles?
He treaded it so often
till it had no length no more
no entity or essence.

Yet, he is willing to pace it
a thousand times more
in the hope of meeting her again
like he did so many times before

Beguiling is the dream
that transports her
to his pillow
while his eyelids remain
closed ,
at the chance of grasping her return.


Rid me of a worn out self

Rid me of a worn out self
Banish it to the end of (my) existence,
Having guarded me
for years and years ahead
having nonchlantly encaged me
It has indeed
exhausted me and led me to distress.
Beauty had been said to me
was impenetrable of virtues.
So was kindness and respect,
I added in shamefacedness.
And though I clung on my falsity
refusing to let go.
I became one with that reflection
and distorted as it was
wouldn’t let me go.
Rid me of my old self, I said
that was fed with lies
on vacant or unspoken truths
and let me be in peace.
Rid me, I beg of you
of all those stale convictions!



Apathy is but a shield
that safeguards
from painful thoughts,
from passion,
from anguish,
from rapture,
from reason,
from treason
from yearning,
from ardour,
from tears,
from fire,
from our heart
that may shroud
the unaffected (ones)
once and for all.


The knight’s charade, a parody

Ah, but fun is all my knight
is seeking,
Oh lady of the lake!
Pleasure, at his leisurely hours,
amusement at all costs and times.
And despite his shining armour,
his chivalrous
though unravelled heart,
has failed to realize, my lady
that I am not
and will ever be not
his or anybody else’s frivolity
let alone a pliable material!


A tender bird (though aging), a limerick

Ι can only imagine what you think, my dear
Though, I need to know it from you
and though my years have passed on earth
in love, I am still an infant
a little bird on a lion’s mane
that needs to be looked after
with tenderness
and lovingness
suited to a child
A bird that
sings a melancholic song
and can’t help but wonder
what life is to bring in terms of love
and if it is entitled to it
(under the circumstances?)
But schooling is all right, I guess
as long as it is done with candor
after all,
aren’t we all everlasting students in life itself?
and isn’t love (to some of us) equivalent of life?


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