Frozen words, crystals or snow flakes in free fall.
As you join them you observe how the voice is fitted together
of humans.
The core locked up, language a sword piercing you,
a passion for precise comments: the key you’ve swallowed
is rusting in your stomach,
while the doorways remain unassailable.
Look! No amount of reconciling with the dark signs
of the deceased forest,
will ever get you perfectly well acquainted
with the night’s metaphysical discourse.
It’s the animal which, wounded, searches the world
for a restful place,
protected from the judges’ harsh light –
charnel houses that preserve
the secret of motion.
The colors’ sadness, as they are worn thin by the wheel
of the days,
memories seeking offspring amid the lynched centuries.
Medals of maturity behind the backs of tomes,
someone gazing at you compassionately from inside the swamp.
The glass-shell contains in its inner wilderness
the forgotten debt of inventing a bank within the flow.
Words’ unbelievable sorrow, once their realism
is transfused, like a sign, into your visions,
a sky that docked inside the room and is now hurling stars -
you can still see it inside the veins.
The seeds you sowed in your eyes.
Translated from Greek by Kostantinos Matsoukas
