The Smell Of The Things Poem by alexandros filippakis

Thinking of you
means nothing to me
also meaningless
is thinking of us
anymore...anyway
I can only hear
the voices of the evenings
we shared and cherished together
they grew old and passed away
but...still I can hear them

So very often you know
they reach to me every night
from the sky above
so far from my window
a window I now call 'mine'
the same one we called 'ours'
I have made so many efforts
to rearrange the rooms
to change the sound of the music
the lights from the lamps

But still I can find you
in some little spots of the house
smiling happy or crying alone
but then again
all that means nothing to me
because
it's been a long long time
since i seized your last kiss
your more recent embrace
before they all slipped away

Now I can only perceive
your presence, that smell
which from the things around us
has been stolen
it reaches to me
every night from a window
like a moon kidnapped from someone
wrapped into clouds, hidden
crying and sleepwalking
blind, searching for me.