9/11

“Twenty years ago the world changed.” Of course one could oppose that statement by saying the world has been changing every single day ever since its beginning, which is certainly the historical truth, but humanity as a whole witnessing a horrific and significant impact, in real time, realising the change, in real time, entering a collective psychological new era, in real time, was unprecedented till 11th September 2001.

On that day we all knew, in real time, that our youth’s dream of a peaceful, free and tolerant world was moving, in best case, away into the far-away future, and in worst case, would become a memory of the past.

Our collective fears came out to be true: terrorism in our cities and airports, wars on, or of, terror in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, hundreds of thousands refugees blocked or drowned at our borders, abandoned people who were promised a better future from this or that self-righteous power.

Where is our common altar to pray on a day like this? Who is our common god for healing? Maybe the only thing that can save us now is to look at and examine our bodies: “This is our hand, this is our leg, these are our eyes.” We must start from the nill of our common humanity. Not in a sentimental way, but in the way when you get lost and look for a point of recognition in the landscape, a mountain, a lake or a river where you can start walking from.

And that walking will be long.

Photo: Findings from the sanctuary of Asklepios in Ancient Corinth.

From the ongoing film photography project Endless archives of light.

Waning Crescent on July 4

Moon phase for July 4 is Waning Crescent,

says the moon app. The photo of the moon shows it

melting in the space darkness.

The surface is like the skin

of an old man who’s seen the world:

wounded, marked, dry.

When we don’t see it,

the moon forgets about us.

We don’t. We wait.

Just a Girl

open.spotify.com/playlist/5nfkyAAwMyxZWSKL2WUMM2

A young woman in an attractive pose

The sea behind her in moonlight mode

One is torn between kindness and irony

For some this is considered a parody

Where she is we’ve been before

We’ve posed wide-eyed, watched the door

To see the right one enter the room

Worship, accept, and save us from doom

And yet indeed it has been also sweet

Dancing with someone in their beat

As long as the song would last

Summer, love, the night so vast

But preacher don’t preach

Because we’ve left that beach

February 2021

8th February

The silence of snow
is one covering much said,
a time to revise,

time to examine
the alternative versions
of things thought well known.

Under the white shapes,
another garden is formed,
the most essential

is seen with closed eyes.

—-

14th February

Almost like Christmas,
a snowy Valentine’s Day,
warming for some hearts,

for others just frost.
Dried flowers in books, letters
that were never sent,

vows that were broken,
but also some not needed,
as years press the earth

for us to walk on.

—-

16th February

I saw a photo,
the sea was in the background,
wintry and confused,

trying to reach the shore.
The wind must have been there too,
like movement frozen.

It’s difficult to
stop the mind thinking of
what cannot be framed,

of what escapes us.

—-

23rd February

There’s an air of spring
examining the frozen
earth by touch, shyly.

We’re not ready yet
for happiness, the heavy
curtains are still closed.

At least the winter
would not lie to us, would not
say all will be good.

One doesn’t know now.

—-

25th February

In a vast black sky,
stars must search for their brothers;
their signals are sounds,

their pulse is slower
than light, but finds the fellow
stars eventually.

Trembling together,
shining apart, know better
than to come closer.

Some got lost that way.

—-

January 2021

1st January

As I cannot sleep
I may as well write a word
about this New Year’s night.

It has covered us
with a thin blanket of clouds
and a waning moon.

Modest and quiet,
no promises have been made,
and no vows taken,

though we humbly begged.

—-

3rd January

Head on the pillow
one hears the own heart beating
dull from afar as

through a cotton field,
then louder; wild streams of blood
heat up flesh and skin.

A walk with closed eyes,
about those internal paths,
in awe and weakness

we give in to sleep.

——

9th January

Even when the grey
skies seem endless, beyond them
an opening waits

for us to travel
to see, to fetch, to bring back
what is always there.

We must prevail
now, we need no metaphors
for what we know true,

substantial and good.

——

11th January

As we get older
we start giving away belts,
as waists matter less.

Winters seem longer,
cold more intolerable
for our thinner skins.

News are no surprise,
except when we forget what
we’ve already heard,

sometimes age itself.

——

20th January

Strong wind is blowing,
only thoughts are too heavy
to travel with it.

It rattles our doors,
makes noises like a toddler
seeking attention.

We couldn’t have known
how good we are in waiting;
we used to worship

finish lines, deadlines.

——-

27th January

A year doesn’t always
last a year. More accurate
would be to count time

like trees do, with rings.
Wide ones, narrow ones, no year
has got the same length.

How old, how weathered
one can be, how strong, how week,
there’s no calendar,

you see when one falls.

——

31st January

Crisp air, fragile sun,
soft frozen white on the roofs.
January leaves

questions unanswered.
How much longer till, when, where,
can we meet again?

There’s a fear we hide,
there’s a hardness we took on,
a mighty distance,

we might not let go.

December 2020

6th December

To strangers: Come back!
We’ll meet at the train station,
northbound or southbound,

people just again
heading to an unknown place.
Ask for directions,

or miss the same train;
we can start then talking, find
out we once lived less

than six feet apart.

———

15th December

Invisible rain,
as if going through a cloud.
On the other side

the night is waiting
in its confessional box.
Our secrets are new

only to us. We
tell them in low voice, release
them from their wordless

life of working hands.

——-

26th December

There has been no snow,
the cold has stayed in our hearts,
preserving our souls

through the long winter
that has started in a spring.
We’re not who we were,

we talk less, plan less,
certainty has left for good
our dictionaries,

a call for writers.

———

28th December

In difficult years,
they took the same decisions
every day anew:

to stand up and cook
if nobody would do it,
to live, even if

other people die,
to laugh at a joke they knew,
to forget until

there’s a chance not to.

———

29th December

And so we prepare
a fine gateway for our ghosts:
pride, illness, hate; we

light candles, burn herbs,
all gods should be satisfied
with our offerings.

What‘s next should be pure
oblivious to us fools,
what‘s next should be new,

much to burn indeed.

November 2020

9th November

Light in the darkness,
that good day in a dark year,
sunny everywhere,

the streets in music,
no face masks can hide laughter
or hope, or relief.

The winter is still
ahead full of bad mood clouds,
we see it, we know,

we’ve needed that break.

——

14th November

Sometimes we wake up
in another person’s dream
wondering about

when to start telling
people who we are and how
we got stranded there.

In the common sea
of worries, not run errands,
there’s a huge lost crowd

dreaming of islands.

—-

Resolutions 22nd November

After this we’ll fall
fast, into each other’s arms,
we will kiss strangers

in the crowded streets,
we will throw away our masks
and be our new selves,

we’ll hug the sad trees,
promise them a life without
hard rain, storms and floods.

We’ll do that, won’t we?

——

23rd November

Stars full of questions,
the night silenced in a cold
black shirt, Sunday’s best.

This winter doesn’t know
where to start or where to end,
it comes unprepared,

without names of months,
no feasts and celebrations,
like a vagabond,

a salesman of cold.

——

25th November

It’s your birthday,
my darling, you don’t know that
I wrote you a poem.

I will whisper it
in your sleep, in languages
for newborns and gods.

Many years have passed
and we’re becoming now less,
less of everything,

but there’s more to learn.

October 2020

15th October

Days are randomly
short or long, there are no rules,
we pass them waiting.

Never before had
seasons less significance
than in this grey queue

we’re standing since months.
We reconstruct them, autumn
now, we remember,

when the birds are gone.

——

19th October

We fear not missing
the time before not touching,
not meeting for fun.

What if we remain
too sensible for ever?
Cold faces, limbs numb?

That was then, before,
they’ll teach at school, before
we found out we can

live without our past.

—-

20th October

We put our headphones
on to meet. We expand space
to place minds and words.

How can we not do?
Communication. That kept
us going so far.

Planets do not touch
each other but still belong
to the same system.

There’s a magic thread.

——

23rd October

The streets are empty,
nobody but fallen leaves
and their soft rustle.

We knew of curfews
from history books, stories
our grandpas told us.

Now we’re a page too,
in a future book about
a year when the leaves

were louder than we.

—-

27th October

We stand on thin boards
facing a next wave swelling.
Behind its water wall,

all stars are hidden.
Can we ride it to the shore
or will we go down?

Strong swimmers or not,
this sea is where we live now,
searching for islands

and friendly creatures.

——

31st October

This unworded world
has still got the languages
we knew but our tongues

are tied. Wide-eyed we
walk our routes and look for all
names we remember.

Someone will find us,
a friend we know might be there
and will share the key

that unlocks meanings.

September 2020

6th September

We’ve lost your rhythm,
September, but keep flying,
blind in changing skies,

like migrating birds,
on their way to their winters:
Reading the north wind,

praying to the south,
the elders in the front line,
youngsters right behind.

May we find our way.

————

9th September

The blackbirds have stopped
singing and nights are falling
silent and lonely.

Our lines disappear
on paper, on low horizons,
on faces and palms.

We‘re home but still gone,
unmapped landscapes of habit,
frightened but eager

to find new landmarks.

————-

12th September

Dusk without blackbirds.
Their fatigue after the long
summer saddens us,

leaves our nights naked.
There’s still warmth and green, but not
their sound of promise.

Oh how we ignored
this summer had no future,
stone on stone our wish,

ignorance our sin.

————

19th September

Unnoticed the leaves
keep falling softly in light
they no more reflect.

Like someone dying
of thirst in the sea, they faint
and go down, down, down.

Sometimes the wind saves
one on the top of a bush,
or a plastic bin,

they are not picky.

————-

23rd September

Last day of summer,
so they say and there are signs:
the clouds gathering

like vultures around
a dying deer; crazy wasps
invade our kitchens,

for a last sweet drink;
people sitting in gardens
even as the rain

starts falling. Who cares?

————

25th September

Leaves fly like letters
unwilling to reach addressees
with depressing news.

The world is too loud,
sinking boats, burning mountains,
where sunsets were due.

But as the pen slides
on the paper, old habits
of promise appear.

Friend, hang on in there.

——————

29th September

The sparrows gathered,
in groups and started flying
from the hibiscus

to the lilac bush,
maybe empathic for those
who must now migrate.

They flattered their wings
with great passion, competed
for the best places,

a shrill goodbye choir.

—————-

30th September

Will life as we knew
it ever come back? Will we
learn to remember?

I sat with my friend
on a bench, her son, my son
have birthdays to come.

The evening was mild,
she and I had been children
in a mighty world,

one not looking back.

————-

August 2020

Greece, 1st August

A hot night. Silence,
the dogs won’t bark, not even
at a daring cat.

The wind’s tongue softens
the streets, dries kissed lips or tears,
things keep happening

while we try to fall
asleep for the next day’s sake.
But at night we hear

all the world at once.

——-

Greece, 5th August

After the full moon
a question: Why is beauty
not fair everywhere?

Why must it be full
of black holes sucking it in?
“Lebanon is cursed”,

said a man in tears.
We were watching on our screens
how such misfortune

eats hopes and summers.

—-

Greece, 11th August

The stars come and go
in a summer sky that knows
no earth, no mayhem.

We all hold our breath
until the next morning comes.
Will all still be here?

I swam in the sea,
sneaking into a beauty
denied for many,

pleasures in rations.

——

Greece, 14th August

An open suitcase,
back from a short trip, sleepless
when the rooster crows.

Once, twice, then three times,
someone has disowned someone.
It’s this world, you know.

As knows the crescent
moon and still comes back to grow,
to change, become full,

and start all over.

—-

Greece, 18th August

Summer is ending.
At night we worry if the stars
still hang on up there:

Jupiter, Saturn?
Check. Still there, pale but standing.
In the predawn hours,

Venus, going home.
The Perseids, though still falling,
take the short ways down.

And the moon is bored.