The man of God


The Man of God is drunken without wine
The Man of God is sated without meat
The Man of God is rapturous, amazed
The Man of God has neither food nor sleep
The Man of God is a king beneath a humble cloak
The Man of God is a treasure in a ruin
The Man of God in not of wind and earth
The Man of God is not of fire and water

Nostalgia – two poems


We adored this Earth so, my Lord
with a love that I am afraid what is waiting us as we depart
is to find our minds thinking only of her
always running back to our own village



I, the most perfect syllable in the world.
It encapsulates me and all that is mine
And all that I perceive or have perceived,
All that I encountered or experienced, the
Totality of my existence and its meaning
To me and the ripples of its influence, little
Or large, on the world around it, completely
Ensconced within this one tiny utterance
That takes a fragment of a moment to
Attain its meaning in its full complexity
That mocks at any naive attempt on the
Part of the “Categorizers” to encumber it
With a fixed definition or to decipher its
Ever variable, ever evolving, ever fluid
Semantics. Definition may bring solace
To the rationalists, but it brings not Truth.

Pomegranate red


Is this the red that should have been
dispersing art on a painter’s canvas?
Is it the red that matadors withhold from charging bulls,
perhaps to spur the fire on a fare lady’s smile?

The Missing Pieces


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.

Whisper / Ψίθυρος


You only felt it
didn’t hear it
though you turned
without saying any word
and looked at me

Αλλαγή Ηγεσίας


Στο στόχαστρο του βομβαρδιστικού
χώρα που πρέπει ν’ αλλάξει ηγεσία
αποτυχημένη κυβέρνηση
ν’ αντικατασταθεί

βόμβες και τηλεκατευθυνόμενα βλήματα
θάνατος ακρίβειας σ’ εφαρμογή

εταιρεία αμυντικού εξοπλισμού
σ’ επιφυλακή

Ο θόλος της ελπίδας


Κάποια καμπάνα
από το μακρινό παρελθόν
χτυπάει ακόμα αδύναμα στ’ αυτιά μου.
Η έρημη εκκλησιά
όπου το μισοτελειωμένο κερί
αγνό και μυρωδάτο