Celestial Connection

Millions of worlds apart

and thousands of words

are missing

between the space

we created for ourselves.

 

We stop conversations,

mute or misuse them,

while the big ice rocks fall apart,

like our lives when we refuse

to listen to ourselves.

 

This world is scary,

full of angry people,

but Earth remembers

and promises to color

our dreams and hopes

with gold dust extracted

from the deep, dark, daunting

place we call space.

 

And right into that moment

we glow furiously;

full of celestial body magic,

we dive back into the blues

and the greens of our reality,

the worlds we build

and the ones we destroy,

conquering one more day

from the eons that await us.

 

Photo: Livraria Lello, Porto, Spring of 2019, Portugal. Minolta Hi-Matic S, Rokkor lens, Kodak Portra, ISO 400, 35mm film.

 

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 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)

On World Poetry Day

On World Poetry Day,
We read till our eyes bleed,
We stare till our scars heal,
We feel till we forget how to feel.

We blame,
the innocent,
the lost,
the souls of the past,
ourselves with a drink
at hand
we collapse
and remember
the world we left behind
before words
began to grasp our meanings.

Take those words
Smash them
Squeeze them
Remember to cry
Before we forget
We ever existed.

(Photo: Leeuwarden sunset, 2014, Canon EOS 1000D, Canon lens 35-80mm, edited via Lightroom with VscoCam.)