When you are driving on ehte roads of our occupied villages and towns
Bogazi, Koma Tou Yialou, Trikomo, the pain is profound
The rupture in the voice propels the course of the blood clot and at the summit there gapes the joy of the coming of another long-headed woman. Her petals folded and the necklace she bent over to grab provokes and protects her copulation far from the corncobs and velvet of the seashore.
Flowers of the rock before the green sea
with veins that reminded me of other loves
gleaming in the slow drizzle
flowers of the rock, faces
in this room
faded lime green paint is chipped
touched-up photographs
remind me of the origins of my name
ikons blessed at the village church
and a makeshift καντηλι
behind a hand-embroidered curtain
keep vigil over me
Stillness prevailed. You could hear the sound of bird wing. A Sea Eagle sweeping A Dolphin leaping. Sea – a…
I carved her name above the entry to the cave,
my chisel picked from the rock-strewn shore,
then beckoned to the girl to see the… inscribed lore!
She dived and was carried on the rise of a wave.
The word “KATI” should bear an echo of her name,
casting a swell to a foamy crest in a rainbow band,
to its final rest on a sea-soaked strip of land,
as the wind whispered ”KATI- KATI”, all the same.
We looked all around the citadel for the whole morning
starting from the shaded side there where the sea
green and without reflection, breast of the slaughtered
peacock,
welcomed us like time without any chasm in it.
The veins of the rock descended from high up
twisted vines, naked, multi-branched turning alive
at the touch of water, as the eye following them
struggled to escape the tedious rocking
of sea growing slowly-slowly weaker.