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Niko Tiliopoulos

Five Years Yesterday

In the pitiful corridors
for years I was looking for myself,
the punk, the drunk,
the thirsty poet.

A pile of books I’m carrying,
somehow I must have forgotten to exit my dreams,
nightmares of the rain of
the tired poet.

Two shadows were drown in smoke.
Two ghosts, and I with Irene,
inside the turbulence two silhouettes,
the forgotten poet.

And if I got dizzy by life,
knowledge immaculate will enter the darkness
of my soul, a prayer to
the drunken poet.

Submitted: Monday, October 09, 2006
Edited: Thursday, October 14, 2010

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