Niko Tiliopoulos


Niko Tiliopoulos Poems

1. Realities 10/7/2006
2. The Prince Of Sunsets 10/7/2006
3. Downtown Moscow 10/9/2006
4. Salome 10/9/2006
5. Forgive Me 10/13/2006
6. Nightmare 10/13/2006
7. Dreaming With Siddhartha 10/13/2006
8. Witch City 10/14/2006
9. My Love 10/14/2006
10. Under The Sun 10/14/2006
11. In Be-Bop 10/14/2006
12. In A Contrast World 10/14/2006
13. Inner Mess 10/14/2006
14. Northern Australia 10/7/2006
15. Makanan Salai 10/7/2006
16. Evidence 10/7/2006
17. Wageningen 10/7/2006
18. The Hole 10/7/2006
19. The Day I Went Away 10/7/2006
20. Off Course 10/7/2006
21. Nicole - Part 1: The Pill 10/7/2006
22. Insomnia 10/7/2006
23. Fork On The Road 10/7/2006
24. For Annie (A Letter) 10/8/2006
25. Poor Adam 10/8/2006
26. For Annie (A Song) 10/8/2006
27. Mirror's Dream 10/8/2006
28. In The Silent Side Of Pain 10/8/2006
29. The Morning Is The Wrong Time To Cry 10/8/2006
30. Icarus 10/8/2006
31. For A Loved One 10/8/2006
32. Into Darkness The Cries 10/8/2006
33. One Spring 10/8/2006
34. We R 10/8/2006
35. Happy New Year 10/8/2006
36. Five Years Yesterday 10/9/2006
37. Advice To An Unborn Drugs Dealer 10/22/2006
38. This Is Not Here 10/28/2006
39. Prelude For A Love 10/28/2006
40. The Void 10/28/2006
Best Poem of Niko Tiliopoulos

Don’t Go To Bali

Don’t go to Bali my friend.

Even if the whales whistle you the way,
even if the dolphins dance for you to stay,
even if the spirits possess you when you pray.

Even if the sun is king or the winds are fair,
or even if the sea currents take you there,
and even if you are charmed
by the gamelan music in the air.

Or the dancers of barong
and the outfits of sarong,
or the feasts of spice
and the paddies of rice,
or the volcanoes of light
and the temples of white.

Come what may in the end,
don’t go to Bali my friend.

Read the full of Don’t Go To Bali

Delictorum Confessio

Your house is old,
as old as the stones that built it,
those that reflect in the silence of the night
the sins and the pain that for centuries have absorbed.

During those hours you stand on your balcony and smile at me,
with an Arabian Nights’ irony,
as you watch me observe your nightdress caressing the marbles,
weaving songs to wipe the sweat off our eyes,

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