Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Because I've dreamed by Maria Polydouri

Why doesn't the dawn want to me to smile
and has hidden away its rosy shape?
Sweet the dream today I have made
where blossomless the dream's been buried.

But with no hope will it bless me
as it remains dressed in grief,
with a purple glimmer in its face
which in blurry tears suffocates.

Oh, had it remembered that once
in the winds of autumn past
that for the blue ether I had longed for
of the dream, before the evensong call.

And that it would come where my bitter
life has finally tilted blossomless finally,
to give me a sweet smile and spread hither
her flowers' rosy secrets tenderly.

Translated from Greek by yours truly.

The image was taken from here.

Monday, June 29, 2015

Ana Zumani - Eros

I want to undertake your protection and care on a spiritual, psychological and bodily level.

To preserve it and multiply it every hour and every moment - with the strength of Eros.

I want to be for your precious machine whatever fresh air and pure nourishment is to it.

A tonic of its divine resemblances.

And if one day my magical allure is gone, I want to simply vanish from your life, with my memory full of those sacred days and nights, when you used to rhythmically grow with my every breath.

Translated by yours truly from Greek.

The image was taken from here.

Friday, June 26, 2015

Shut up

Don't tell me what I can and cannot do.
I can do everything.
Since always.
But what for me matters the most is
the moment.
And every moment is different.
It once leads me one way and then the other.
My dreams can wait.
But not for long.
Let your dreams for me wait
they'll never come true.
I was born free a master of myself
and not your underling.
And if I've chosen some forms of slavery
they were part of my learning process
a process that doesn't seem to seek to come
to an end.
I have not forgotten your words and exhortations
but I never wanted to partake
to the secret of the daily misery
that you call life.
Your way of thinking is ephemeral and
it's only purpose is the transient vindication
of your expectations.
I think of the past
study the present
and visualize without even trying
the future.
So, at long last you should shut up
and let me be myself
my own ruler
and if your dreams for me don't come true
worry not
mine one day will.

This was originally written in Greek.

The image was taken from here.

Thursday, June 25, 2015

The Silence by Jiorgos Christakis

The agony, the passion for life, the terror, the composition and the decay, the matter, the spirit, the soul, the heart, the howl, the silence, the hope… Everything is spinning around at vertiginous rates in an immense circle full of fire that is incessantly propelled by the force that we call apeiron, mystery, total darkness, full light.

Everything undulates in a perpetual rhythm.
In this incessant dance, in this unstoppable swirling, the muddy paths of the mind are illuminated in time. Then you discover that everything moves, fights, flounders, falls in love, hates… everything inside the mind… Wine, smoke, sweat… Fire…

The body, the inside matter, the mind and their derivatives pulsate in a twirling maelstrom that grows even stronger when counter currents are met.

Agonies, conflicts, battles, losses, loves, joys are spinning without pause in her bowels. Airy thoughts, wet thoughts follow her circular orbit and her persistent powerful rhythm. The whole universe in the circle of time and space is struggling to reach nil and infinity… Two dark spots… the beginning and the end… The angel and the devil… Zero and one… and then zero again…

The maelstrom that wipes out instantaneously the present and sucks in the past and the future.
And then comes the silence. The silence is not the most extreme despair, the annihilation, the incurable ignorance. Each person reaches it by following their own road, redeemed in their own way, passing through their materialistic construction.
Silence hidden in the wolf's breathe…
The spirit… the wind… the indecipherable matter…

Silence is the highest peak… a simple glow over the wet meadows…

Translated by yours truly.

The image was taken from here.

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Maelstrom by Giannis Zografakis

The world.
The absolute whole.
And everything is spinning in its center during the big inhalation.
And everything is un-spinning spiraling from it during the big expiration.
Every circle is a birth and a death. The eternal gives birth and kills whatever it gives birth to in order to see its existence through the mirror of everlasting change.
The world is whirling in its self, in the infinite horizon of events that no mortal could bear see.
The purgatory of forms. The eternal spin and consumption that brings all temporary patterns against chaos and the great despair.
The center is one and punctal, without substance and everything between the spot and infinity is infinitely bigger than the spot and infinitely smaller than infinity.
The mountains echo the Wolf's song as it calls on the moon to show him the eternal path and the moon weeps, because only to the voice that's leaving it can reveal the secret road.
And the Wolf stands alone, on the faraway peak, in the center and the brinks. In the emptiness of the big maelstrom that gathers the similar with the similar and separates the world from existence.
There, at the brink of the world, no one else can stand, and is not worthy to declare to the world that it exists.

Translated from Greek by yours truly.