Τα Παραθυρα [The Windows]

Τα παράθυρα αντικατοπτρίζουν τον εσωτερικό μας κόσμο. [λέω συνήθως]

Είναι η σύνδεση μας με ό, τι βρίσκεται πέρα από εμάς. [λέμε συνήθως]

Τα ανοίγουμε και νιώθουμε σαν να ανοίγουμε την ψυχή μας στον κόσμο που ενδόμυχα ποθούμε. [λες συνήθως]

Τα παράθυρά μου είναι μεγάλα και ευήλια. [λέω συνήθως]

Είναι τετράγωνα με ένα ιδιαίτερο λευκό κάδρο από την εσωτερική τους πλευρά και ένα ραφάκι που εξέχει, καλύπτοντας το καλοριφέρ του δωματίου. [λένε συνήθως]

Η αλήθεια είναι τα αγαπώ τα παράθυρά μου και ας μου μιλούν άσχημα κάποιες φορές. [ησυχία]

 

***English***

Windows reflect our inner world. [I usually say]

They are our connection with whatever exists beyond us. [we usually say]

We open them and we feel as if our soul is opening to the world that we deeply desire. [you usually say]

My windows are big and full of light. [I usually say]

They are square, with a distinct white frame on their inner side and a shelf that protrudes, covering the room’s radiator. [they usually say]

The truth is, I love my windows even if they sometimes say mean things to me. [silence]

 

Photo: Pentax P30, Ilford 200, 35mm film. Leeuwarden, 2014, the Netherlands.

The Ones from {2014}

{epigrams written during 2014}

The seasons are always changing. Be patient.

Take a walk and everything will look better.

Draw a picture, write something down or just doodle. It will make you smile.

Life is beautiful when you are surrounded by friends.

Sometimes, love is all you need.

Traveling is exhilarating. It is life itself.

Work is a blessing, so is relaxing.

The power of the mind is intriguing.

Art is everywhere if you have your eyes open.

Some stuff is better left unsaid.

 

(Photo: Lefkada, Agios Ioannis beach, 2014, Greece. Canon EOS 1000D, 35-80mm, Lightroom with VscoCam.)

That point between the shoulder blades

That point between the shoulder blades is
where pain sits and multiplies,
like millions of mosquito bites
it itches. Day in, day out.
You can’t lay down or sleep on your back.
You always have to keep your head down,
looking at the floor,
at the ground where
you took your first steps.
The point between your shoulder blades feels cold,
like icebergs have been formed there,
since the beginning of time,
without you knowing it.
But deep down you knew, all along
about the pain between those shoulder blades.
Now it’s part of you, you can’t imagine your life
without the pain.
Those icebergs never melt,
those mosquito bites never heal,
you need to keep your head down to the ground
and count the blessings in your heart.
And then the pain will transform
and the ice will start melting
while a hand is warming that spot
between your shoulder blades.

{Inspired by M. Oliver’s “When Death Comes” and that chronic pain between my shoulders.}

Photo: Leeuwarden, Friesland, June 2015. Minolta Dynax 7000i, Kodak Film 200, 35mm film.

The Ones From {2013}

[One for you and one for me]

Εγώ είμαι η γραμμή

της Αρχής

και του Τέλους.

Ποιητική μορφή

ζητά το κενό.

Η ανάσα σου στεγνή,

όπως τα φύλλα

στις αρχές του χειμώνα.

Χάνοντας και βρίσκοντας

την έμπνευση.

Τα παραμύθια

είναι αντανακλάσεις της ζωής

που δεν μπορείς να έχεις.

Τι και αν εγώ σταμάτησα,

η Γη ακόμη γυρίζει.

Αγάπα με

και ας σβήσουν όλα τα αστέρια.

Η ησυχία είναι γαλήνη,

είναι συνείδηση.

Αγέρωχη

αλήθεια

των ματιών σου.

Ξέχασες τα γυαλιά σου στο τραπέζι,

έχουν σπάσει από τη σιωπή.

Η ησυχία

(με)

τρομάζει.

Ξανά στην κατηφόρα,

αυτή τη φορά πιο

βαθιά.

Όταν ο ουρανός είναι γαλάζιος,

δεν φοβάμαι τίποτα.

Μίλησέ μου για εκείνα

που δεν θα δω

ποτέ.

Και όμως

η ζωή

είναι άγουρη.

_____

Particles of memories

that just begin

to unravel.

A feeling

of sorrowful

happiness.

 

(Photo: Leeuwarden sunset, 2013, The Netherlands. Canon EOS 1000D, 35-80mm, Lightroom with VscoCam. Sunset series. )

The Misfits

A simple word is not enough, is not enough, for us who struggle with the world. The exiles, the weirdos, the misfits.

We are one and we are nothing the world cannot explain. We are products of our own insecurities and reflections of the world’s injustices.

We scream in our sleep; we open our windows and stare at the white noise of the world.

Darkness does not scare us. We are the dark and the cold. We have seen the abyss and stared at the void.

Through loneliness we have learned ourselves. We have seen how the ugly transforms.

Through the vanity of hope we have seen light. We twisted and scratched it, we’ve sensed and conquered it.

And now, below the fresh, stark moonlight we surrender our souls to the Arts of tomorrow.

We are the role models everyone fears and secretly admires.

We are the truth told before birth and the lie on the deathbed.

At the end of a dream we are the nightmare, and in nightmares we create dreams.

One word is not enough, is not enough for us to be seen. To be left alone and to surrender.

We give up on the world and draw Art with our tears. We close our windows and forget the void.

We lose and we win, what humanity ignores; to be Art in the light and Poetry in the dark.

 

(Photo: Buffavento castle in Kyrenia mountain range, Northern Cyprus, 2014. Taken with I-phone 4 and edited with VscoCam)

the fall

She stares at that window all day. She dares.
Through its broken frame, she stares. Then she dares to fear.
She dreams.
Above the concrete and the clouds, she dares to dream.
She screams. Into the shadows of herself, below that window she grows.
She stares. She dares to scream out loud.
No voice echoes.
The power of those walls. Empty and silent. Like her dreams.
In that room she dares; to talk and crouch upon an ego.
Those dreams.
Scattered in all the corners of those rooms.
She fears.
Of the life she cannot dream. Of the life she hasn’t dared to fear.
All those years.
The years to come.
In the beauty of loneliness, she dares. When she dares she dreams.
When she stares she fears.
And then I saw a smile upon her face.

(Photo of my mother at our old place, Kozani GR, Nov 2013. Pentax)

5.1.2016