Ear-shattering actions, soundless retreats, utterances fused
in the silence
Everything that did not eventuate, was spoken of and met with no response,
while no one negotiated over the losses.
In the book of mirages my image ricochets off the labyrinth.
I am an object of observation inside the hourglass
where the sand forms sand-dunes obstructing
my consent to be free.
I forgive you… That is all I can do inside this ambitious arc
whose bounds remain uncircumscribed
and whose four sides are guarded by the Ecclesiast -
no, not everything can be futile.
How can one save up a whole lot of strength
in whose every step nestles the fear of impasse,
who is dogged by the whispering
of his cowardice?
You follow the trail primal forces carved out
with dawn’s cruel beak
savaging you in the now
holding on to the score of the timeline.
So, then, listen to me. I was never a hunter of visions –
all the things I loved
first mortified my selfishness, and then settled inside of me.
Latched on to this unfathomable planet
your life is the curtain of your action
fiercely vouchsafing the momentum
in the midst of uncertainty,
as when looking in the mirror
and all you are is that part you’d imagined
would bear through.
Translated from Greek by Kostantinos Matsoukas
