Complaints of a Fruit

I wonder why on Earth he bit me.
He probably couldn’t keep it in his pants!
And then, after so many years, this guy is waiting for me to fall.
What am I?
Everybody’s answer?
I shall not fall!
I await the caressing hand that will gently pull me,
away from my mother’s womb.
Carefully undress me,
spoon my insides out,
beat me to a pulp.
What a taste!
Some tongue feeling the pleasure…
Now I can scream:
I AM JUST AN APPLE!

Μυαλού Περιπτύξεις

Γυμνό κορμί
Μια σάλπιγγα στα χεριά μου
Κολυμπώ σε θάλασσα
Σάρκα πλημμυρίζει τα ρουθούνια
Γεύση αίμα και ιδρώτας
Γλωσσά τρώει γρανίτα
Μακριά βγαίνει και γλύφει
Χεριά πιέζουν
Στήθη, κοιλία, γοφοί, εύφορη κοιλάδα
Παλινδρομικά
Αυτός
Αυτή
Κίνηση συγχρονισμένη
Ρυθμός
Ιδρώτας
Βρεγμένα σεντόνια
Μια στιγμή
Το σπέρμα πλημμυρίζει

Page of my Dreambook

It is black
And the ink is white
The letters are small
And the text condensed
Meaning?
There is no meaning
Just dribbles
Of an old young fool

Drunk and disorderly
The page looks
It reeks of alcohol and smoke
But through the smoky veil
The dampened atmosphere
Deep in the soul’s cabaret
There my Dreams peacefully reside.

The Renaissance Discovery of Time

The painting is Ideal
Ideal is time
Time is existence
Like Botticelli’s Spring
My time and Yours
Flowing, continuous, perplexed
But also simple and beautiful

Are we an Ideal?
Living in time
Discovering our Ideal
Painting our Spring

If we were
Which Museum would house us?

Train

The train takes off.
Yes…It flies, no rails does it follow.
What would happen if trains flew?
The birds, the landscapes, pass by too fast to discern anything.
All is too green
Houses, animals
Seem to be one
One big cow for the whole journey
Only near the stations, cities closing
The rhythms of everyday life
Resumed once more
Cars, traffic lights, families with groceries, people crossing the street, coming and going…
The beggar lying at the far corner
Cold again tonight
I will have reached home by this journey’s end.

Train station Roof

Standing you see
The families rushing to the coaches
The kids that follow, unwillingly
The lovers’ goodbye kiss
The tears that flow, unwillingly
The friends saying farewell
The looks back at the departed, unwillingly

In the end
A whistle’s blow
The beginning of a journey

Love walking down the street

Love painted on their faces
Felt through their embraces
Colours and sizes vary
As do creeds and stories
But everywhere you look
They cluster
From the skies the outfit
Resembles an oriental rug

Love born

Love is born
The cigarette is lit
She laughed…
A hug at the bar
A kiss for good night

Love was born
While the wind blew
And the Willows wept
The ducks swam leisurely
And the fishes nibbled the bread…

Love will be born
Two minutes ahead
While you put your cigarette out
And open the door
Her shadow caresses you
Your breath catches her aroma…

Moment of chance
Or the universe’s deliberation
Your walk
Shall be accompanied…