Trust your smile.
It can be strong
as a thunderbolt
and even more:
Stride across the desert of your hesitant dreams.
Be not afraid of submerging in its dunes,
if you want to arrive to the green oasis
where fresh runs the giving sourse life.
Tearing their way towards the boat,
surfacing in parallel,
plunging as in invisible harness,
alongside, round, under the bowsprit,
On the anvil of wording you forge the poem.
And as the smith delivers the pickax
only deftly wrought to dig the soil
you don't cease chiseling it
Do not trust morning's shadows.
In midday they lose their echos,
Walls of unconscious hypocrisy proved to be the means
I used in my life's actions, krafts and skills.
I was sure for my kind intentions
and had never hoped to be mistaken, misunderstood.
She counts them, when can catch up, one by one.
She marks off: transparent, blurry ones...
Impetuous, hesitant...observes their behaviour.
Admires colours: greenish, caramel...
I do bless the epic Muse to have honoured me,
and have revered my labour by her refference.
I would shudder, had she on my life in Hades said nothing.
No one could imagine that I'm living here thousand lifes,
At an autumn's cold evening
as the wave was popping into shore
''Ας πέσει τo χνουδάτο τούτο χιόνι
στα όνειρά μας επάνω, να τα κάνει να λάμψουν''.
Η ανάσα σου λειαίνει αμετάθετους ουρανούς,