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August 2018, Τα ολοκληρώματα, The integrals

Chances or Τύχη

tzelikazoumpouli

Once upon a time, History whispered

there was a fire that burned the Beings, their Names and their Eyes

She was scary, she was deadly

She was big and destroyed everything at her path

 

People did not expect this Nemesis

and screamed while burning

Why, Gods? What was our Ibris?

 

You saw us Eye to Eye, Gods replied

and the winds blew even stronger

The waves grew even taller

You knew that these places were sacred,

You knew that we envied their wilderness and simplicity

They said

 

Once upon a time, the Time learned

there was History that allowed Fires to burn people’s lives

She was resentful, she was tough

She was unfair and destroyed all hopes at her path

 

People did not expect this turning in history

and screamed while drowning

Why, History? What did we not learn from you?

 

You took today and the day after for granted

She replied

My unexpected turns, are like random dices in children’s games

She said

 

Once upon a time, the Fire recalled

there were `Beings under the sun

They laughed, they played, they cried, they loved

There were Eyes that dared to see

There were Names that had meaning

Now ashes cover the blue-green landscape

and only some half-burned toys in black gardens

are the reminders of anything alive

 

Before dying remorseful, the Fire went

to a different fairy tale and became

the Fire that burned the distances

 

Once upon a time, History whispered,

There was a Fire that burned the distances and Time

The Names and the Beings from everywhere could feel the same pain and loss

They rushed to rebuild and to rescue. They rushed to rename.

However far, Eyes of imagination could remember

and this warmed other Eyes’ willingness

to be

and to dream

People in the graves were soothed, but wondered:

Why History? Why did Fire decide to do this?

 

It is not mine nor the Fire’s choice, she replied.

It was people’s intentions and decisions

that I could not but obey.

When people unite

history can change its turning

and random dices in children’s games

can become ways of celebrating chances.

 

Chances or Τύχη; asked the souls.

This is for another fairy tale,

she said.

Οι συναρτήσεις, July 2013, The functions

Summer

tzelikazoumpouli

1

She was experiencing the dead cypress of the mind with edges

and her need like a heart whispered,

“fade out time,

roll on my abyss with the silky birds”

The disturbed mental state and time

that passed

without looking the endless flight with the big breast

and the small lust

and an inextinguishable, bottomless pain

which breathed in the smoke

as though

it was blood

I am, I say, I want to say “life”

I was about to shout but no voice

was coming out

Only the inarticulate bilingual orphan

Truth

 

2

Until you think of the translation

The meaning had already found a breezy shadow

To pass the afternoon

Shouting “Solve me” and drinking

Besieged freedom

 

3

How did you change so much? She asked the big storm.

Don’t ask how,

Only ask where.

Οι συναρτήσεις, March 2013, The functions

Τουμόροου (Tomorrow)

tzelikazoumpouli

The navigator was pointing to the north

Speechless poet

only mumbling some Dionysian sounds

Primitive and universal

Bits of the noises i was able to understand

“Aggressiveness does not migrate, it stays where her roots are

Where the first grey hair rises”

The navigator was pointing to the south

Hot mad man

(despite the spring snow)

Reminding us about the time change tomorrow

Not the one predicted; the one that never existed

Something  I had never lived before i was able to long for

In the promise of time that would slip from the fingers

“Migration does not return; it stays where it went

Where the first facial wrinkles rise”

The navigator was pointing to the west

Innocent witnessing child

that others took her accounts for real

Trials and crusades happened at the momentum

Foam from the bottom I was able to clear out

and to become again; like history

Greek-ness does not die and this is her pity

The navigator was pointing to the east

Mumbling English poet

Any bits I was not able to understand

In the drunke-ness I thought I could distinguish “Του μωρού” (of the baby)

and while he was saying something about tomorrow

I said this coincidence of the words is the truth

As is the gap between them