Research sheds light on the missing persons of Cyprus who disappeared without a trace during the Turkish invasion of 1974. Andrea Stylianou talks to “Neos Kosmos” about her academic achievements and being a human rights advocate.
Having a deep interest in human rights and listening to stories told by many new migrants arriving in Australia while a NewsCorp Australia reporter set Andrea on a new path. She started a journey to investigate the story of how she had arrived in Australia as a two-year-old with her family in 1975 after they became refugees from the Turkish invasion of Cyprus in 1974. Continue reading “The Missing Pieces”
Στο στόχαστρο του βομβαρδιστικού
χώρα που πρέπει ν’ αλλάξει ηγεσία
βόμβες και τηλεκατευθυνόμενα βλήματα
θάνατος ακρίβειας σ’ εφαρμογή
εταιρεία αμυντικού εξοπλισμού
σ’ επιφυλακή Continue reading “Αλλαγή Ηγεσίας”
από το μακρινό παρελθόν
χτυπάει ακόμα αδύναμα στ’ αυτιά μου.
Η έρημη εκκλησιά
όπου το μισοτελειωμένο κερί
αγνό και μυρωδάτο Continue reading “Ο θόλος της ελπίδας”
A church bell
from the distand past
keeps sounding powerlessly
in my ears
The lonely church where the half-burnt candle
pure and fragnant
still stands by St Mamas’ icon Continue reading “The dome of hope”
Translation into English by Irini Papas
The old lady had never learned anything else in her life except to drop blessings from her lips, as if the blessings sustained her.
Her eyelash colour faded, her face was a mass of wrinkles.
“Daughter, give me the votive candle so I may light it, and may you reign like a queen one day”.
On Sundays, in the courtyard under the vine, they’d turn on the radio.
“Daughter, bring the radio, and may you pick up soil and have it turned to gold in your hands”.
Continue reading “Euphemisms of an old lady”
deep redness of the sunset:
Is it the sunset or is it blood?
A question posed by the sun, or a slaughter? Continue reading “Oia, Santorini”
Not a deep feeling did we declare,
nor did we live a great love affair.
Wrong or right,
we only shared a night. Continue reading “Two times Twenty”
It’s no longer there…
a “We’ve Moved” sign placed up high…
some things can’t be moved immediately or afterwards
such as the pages, folded at the edges, to be read less
than to be recollected,
such as the queue in front of the cash register
such as the backbones of saints
I search for the bookshop on Saint Andrew’s Street…
terribly ill by its absence
after all, this is where the hours passed
their hours with me, and the hours search insistently
for that which can’t be moved or migrated,
which oppresses and suspends generations… Continue reading “The Bookshop on Saint Andrew’s Street”
When you’re out on your way to Mt Olympus,
let the road trip be a long one
full of wonder, full of autumn colors
full of yellow-green trees and mountain plains.
Continue reading “St. Panteleimon of Old”
My friend Rena called yesterday,
She said,” It’s summer and I’m going away.”
I asked, “Do you think that’s right.
We won’t see each other for a fortnight?”
She responded, “I’m going to Skopelos.”
I queried, “Do you think that’s ophelos?
There, there are thousands of trees
But no breeze. Continue reading “Holidays”
Spring sometimes visits us in Melbourne,
and pansies cannot tell the difference,
so it seems;
fountain waters flow unabated
of rocky spills. Continue reading “Melbourne winter”
Shadows in their solace
can have a room
a sofa, or nothing!
Can have water
a piece of bread
They are blasted
by “friendly bombs”! Continue reading “Godly Justice”
You must never walk
behind me, for I may not
lead you the right way. Continue reading “Three in one”
© Pipina D. Elles
Quo Vadis Sydney 2008
I first saw you,
by the sea shore…
Your white robe, soiled
made your face
There was a heavy
in the air,
that of a burial site! Continue reading “Antigone!”
© Pipina Elles
as little as
and they will
back at you.
to reach you. Continue reading “Children”
A piece of my life, in a tight embrace
is my splendid land, my living place.
A westerly wind makes my spirits rise
for this earth, Athina’s paradise.
The sparkling water and shadowy cave
your mind and body will now enslave,
your very soul will be captured too
in the swirls of foam from a sea so blue. Continue reading “My Greece”
Come our way –
Up on a white multi-peaked mountain
To search and find our warmest shelters
Among the charred-tree remains of January’s winter
Ensuring our tokens of slavery are not erased.
Only but a few tracks stay out of our bustle city
And on the snow that just fell
Like a crafty veil, a tight fit
Around our worn out shoes
Prompting us to forget all past traditions
And find some foreign thoughts
That spread across a world gone wild. Continue reading “Country stint”
Δυο στήλες χαρακώστε
για τις ζημιές της μέρας τούτης
και τα κέρδη της.
Τα σοβαρά νοήματα
τις φωτεινές σας σκέψεις, τα διαβάσματα
τ’ από τη μια γραμμή στην άλλη
στη στήλη των κερδών να σημειώσετε. Continue reading “Kiki Dimoula/Κική Δημουλά”
by Warsan Shire
no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well
your neighbours running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay. Continue reading “Home”
-13 προς 14 Νοέμβρη…
τα λόγια χάθηκαν σε μιά στιγμή στο σκότος στο αίμα αθώων,
που χρωστάνε τη ζωή…σε ποιόν;
Γιατί πληρώνουν τόσο ακριβά,
το βλέμμα , την ανάσα, τη ζωή,
Continue reading “Το δάκρυ της Γης”
The dictators in our midst…
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Love always dwells in melancholy
but oft-times saddens itself even more
from the fear of a loss caused by folly
and of a heart that the Fates forswore.
Continue reading “The Melancholy of Love”
O mega, don’t mourn!
You shall surely be reborn
as a new Alpha.
is perfect, I am so glad
I am… Nobody.  Continue reading “Five-Seven-Five”
The big black Cadillac rides again
inside our neighborhood the small domain,
it carries dangers and many sins
and people with infernal wings.
Continue reading “The Black Cadillac”
There are some things in life I shared
with people that I lived for years,
but voices could never dare
to speak for feelings and for fears.
Continue reading “A second chance”