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Mar 2018 · 324
The fays lifting us up
aurora kastanias Mar 2018
The lives we cross unknowing
The green-grass paths they wayfare,
Fables of fays and fiends unspoken
Truths belonging to entities of matter,

Flesh bones a body, rhythmed by breath
A heartbeat, pumps red juices carrying
Cleansing oxygen through tireless veins
To a brain, synapses creating thoughts

Interpreting, nervous sensations only
Tempered by hormonal roller coasters
As we defy, the mystic and attempt
To make sense of our existence beyond

The astonishing complex husk leisurely,
Deteriorating in time as we blow on candles
Grasping indeed there is far more inside,
A microcosm endeavouring to reconcile

With an all-pervasive Universe encompassing
As stars fall before our eyes, chronic sunrise,
Twirling incessantly without ever feeling
Dizzy, dazed by questions sparkling intuitively

As we struggle with the limits of earthly
Confinement, the green-grass paths we wayfare,
Health impediments, mental distortions,
Quarrelling with our fellow adventurers

Our frustrations, neglecting to acknowledge
The fays lifting us up whilst unpredictable
Fiends bid to crush when unexpectedly
Unfathomable interior strength unites

Us through experience a succession
Of collective errors misinterpretations
Aware however that we will endure,
Evolve to reach our highest potentials

For a unique welfare granted to all
Creatures, as we set course into the vastness
Of bewilderment, inexplicable space,
Omnific unfurling home to humanity

And all the breaths within.
On life and humankind
Mar 2018 · 358
Missing Hawking
aurora kastanias Mar 2018
You were born in the mist
Of a worldwide ****** war,
Shielded in the town of Oxford
No one would have known,

Who came to light
On a random winter’s day,
And would have studied darkness
To humanity’s bewilderment

And science dismay.

Who could have envisaged
A modest run-of-the-mill boy,
Having troubles reading would pass
From studying clocks and radios

To figure how they work,
To later toy with physics
Identify the laws,
Of a universe beginning

With a silent bang.

A singularity unfolding
Ever-expanding space,
Projecting multiverse odds
Stretching theories of strings,

To unfathomable infinity
Countless possibilities.

I fell upon you by hazard
Listening to your alas robotic voice,
Notions of evanescence and chaos
Information lost forevermore,

In deep mystifying black holes
Only to reach the end,
Of an article explaining
The genius you were recognised

Even when you were wrong.

Sustaining a verity
You humbly would recant,
Thirty years later tell the world
Indeed energy survives and is returned,

To cosmos under a radiation
They now call by your name,
For there are no “eternal prisons”
Not in space nor in your wheelchair.

Your alacrity showed humanity so
By flying in a zero gravity zone,
Defying the physics constraining your body
An endless fervent hope, I dare

Share with you. For one day
To travel space and understand
A theory encompassing all,
Started studying cosmology

All because of you.
On Stephen Hawking
Mar 2018 · 296
Penn Station
aurora kastanias Mar 2018
Escaping memories I ran
To the setting of beginnings
In search of new encounters
A rescuer, an owner, a gentle

Word. Penn station had evolved
In years with my emotions,
Beguiling decadence lost
To opulence decay.

Pink granite covered in grime,
Glass filtering sunbeams had
Now turned light into grey,
Eerie shadows reflecting

My vanishing intentions,
Dwindling strength,
Waning hope.
The mellifluous cadence

Of alphanumeric flapping metals
That used to sooth me with dreams
Of arrivals and departures
Had been silenced for evermore.

Solari boards swapped
For liquid-crystal displays,
Even people had changed
Flaunting grimaces of disdain,

As they whispered rumours
Of terminal demolishment
To the benefit of a sporting arena
They would call The Garden.

I empathised with the unfluted
Columns of the Roman colonnade,
For I too had been deemed
Obsolete and inefficient,

A wreck no one shall retrieve,
To be suppressed, a panacea
For a collective consciousness
That would rather not see,

Turning blind eyes to me,
To cost-effective identity
Annihilation,
While Bobby freed of me

Won the New York State
Championship
At Poughkeepsie.
On Old Penn Station, Nyc
Mar 2018 · 346
On occasions I recall
aurora kastanias Mar 2018
Your crooked smile the flower behind
Dumbo ears reflections of light
onto the boldness of your distinctive
gargantuan head, baby looks

one wouldn’t expect, from an imposing
gentle giant like yourself.

Your invitation to stay when everyone
leaves, closing hour, tipsy people ******
into night streets as you turn the key
lock the door behind them. Pub shut.

Bringing bamboo sofas together
improvised imperial king-size beds,
innocent projection In The Mood
For Love on white sheets pined

to the wall, soundtrack to your echoing
heartbeat as I approach, lay my head
on your chest teasing fingers twirling
the soft curly hair surrounding

*******, pretending to follow the plot
suffocating the sound of my deepening
breaths, when resistance loses purpose
and I submit to your hypnotic lips,

hands scoping each other’s worlds
as we unveil slithering tips on soft skins,
yours and mine akin, though you are strong
and I am delicate, movement symbiosis

orchestrated by Umebayashi, a two-piece
jigsaw made of flesh, meticulously moulded
to fit, once forever no space left between
as we fill the voids with steamy exhales

overwhelmed by your power I struggle
to prevent, reason commanding vocal chords
to emit the sound demanding cease, ‘Stop’,
whilst my kernel essentially pleads not to,

an internal duel I refuse to attend, biting
my lip holding you tight protracting time
not to end as I fall, madly into you
and mistakenly confuse your body with mine,

unable to define where you finish
and I begin.

Although you died since,
on occasions I recall.
On love memories
Mar 2018 · 360
Rather than nothing
aurora kastanias Mar 2018
Why something rather than nothing,
millenary questions mankind dwell
upon whilst witnessing existence
of surroundings, mesmerising

phenomena. Enthralling vibrations
we sense, sparkling myriad colours,
sounds, shaping textures emitting scents,
flavours tingling baffled palates.

Wandering on metamorphosing soils
ceaselessly reflourishing in springs,
celebrated by pagans and mystic believers
the same, for the goddess we call nature is

the only revealing
itself before us with no veils.

Bathing in fresh waters, rivers
streaming from icy mountain tops
to endless oceans of white
salty minerals balancing life,

in the depths of which all began,
cells melding to engender species
of omnific varieties, beguiling entities
curiously exiting to wander lands.

Juicy fruits on branches of rising trees
erecting to shield, shading creatures
from the scorching rays of a brilliant
star, circadian dawning consenting

earthly presence to evolve, for eyes
to rise contemplating space, in time,
notice the sparkling lights
on infinite black canvas, wonder

what they are, mirific excitement
while perceiving a unique
peculiar consciousness encompassing
all that ever was is and will be,

for intuition to question in beguile,
Why something rather than nothing?
On existence
Mar 2018 · 597
Italy has voted
aurora kastanias Mar 2018
Unfold the map of the world and trace
a kaleidoscopic boot-shaped country
rising from the waters lavished by Atlantic
in a multicultural basin at the heart

of a flat globe. The Mediterranean birthed
by the Zanclean deluge, witness of myriad
exoduses intertwining genes to encompass
peninsular cradles of early civilisations,

a medley of ethnicities trading goods
discoveries and ideas on sailing caravels.

Two thousand years later the remnants of
the Roman Empire vote, the democracy
they had co-founded two thousand years
before, on philosophies of justice, equality

and human rights. Power to the people,
lost in the process of history making,
populaces disillusioned and frustrated
at millenary successions of failed rulings

corroborated by corruption and personal
greed of those chosen to represent them.

Today Italians vote anti-establishment
thereby at long last rejecting ideologies
of the past, too old to bare credibility
electing a party set outside the box,

no left right nor centre, victory of populism,
communism and capitalism burned
at stake for their crippling sins albeit
international cold-war renaissance attempts.

Marking the end of the twentieth century
the twenty-first bets on the refreshing breezes
of new tantalising illusions, cuts to public debt,
income of citizenship, youth employment,

tax reductions campaigned to allegedly increase
family spending, for whatever we do we are
all bound by a unique reigning doctrine under
the unified global empire, of consumerism.
On the 2018 Italian vote
Mar 2018 · 259
A revolution
aurora kastanias Mar 2018
They tell me in man
lies the source of evils
as weakness surrenders
to ineluctable lures.

That he pursues aims
of personal interest
out of egocentric greed
prompting justice, inequity.

That he turns blind eyes
to the sufferings of others
unable of compassion as he
steals their earthly blessings.

That he imperturbably drains
natural resources to his gain
careless of consequences
apathetic towards environment.

That in the name of telluric power
he does not hesitate to drop
bombs and fire guns
on discriminated innocents.

Watches his fellow beings die rejoices
for the success of his missions,
Yet I know, that for each
malicious creature there is one.

That preaches good and acts
accordingly, finding strength
in the marvel that is
his own existence.

That appals before ignorance
repels individualism
conceives humanity as one race
believes and strives for equality.

That sees the struggles the tragedy
of the less fortunate born
on lands of war sickness and poverty
lending a hand of empathy.

That cares for his surroundings
cherishing the boons granted
to all living creatures
endeavouring to protect, his world.

That is dismayed by injustice
abhors violence and abuse
engages courage to protest
incessantly crying out, for peace.

Delights gifting strangers smiles
tender looks of presence whispering
brotherly, You are not alone.

A kind word, a loving deed, a revolution.
On mankind
Mar 2018 · 335
Mothers to adore
aurora kastanias Mar 2018
Countries fabricated
by roaming people drawing
borders behind them,
trails of hostility

to select those who would cross
rims after them, to keep
resources to themselves,
lands of prosperity

on which to build, greed
homes to shield,
newly engendered families
xenophobes,

induced to believe
by governors they are different,
they are better, superior
and ultimately worth

much more, than any stranger
standing on the other side
of imaginary lines, they are barbarians,
unbelonging

to great civilisations, against whom
we need protection,
stealing scientists
left right and centre,

research peddled as development
promising a high from nuclear weapons,
bombs called mothers to adore
campaigning over a grand potency

participating in, an international
mallet-measuring contest
whilst signing accords,
for those who have to keep

and those who don’t
not to aspire, to acquire,
a prize for populations
who have successfully or can

destroy approaching aliens
simply by, pressing the right button
on a joystick suitable for games,
of mass destruction

ten thousand nuclear warheads
ready for use.
On nuclear weapons and non-proliferation treaty
Mar 2018 · 310
As none
aurora kastanias Mar 2018
Why is it so arduous
for us to believe we are
beguilingly startling
creatures as none?

Whilst we look at others
we call animals and remain,
befuddled by the perfection
of a nature we reclaim,

temporary beings
roaming freely a land
of prosperous marvels
releasing an infinity

of colours, delicate those
of uncountable flowers,
green that of trees
erecting forests of auburn,

as we spectate the dance
of stones raising mountains,
following the streams
sourcing from them,

cascading into rivers
torrents pouring into
shimmering oceans
unfolding to the limits

of our sight,
where water touches the sky
and we stare marvelling,
at sunset giving birth

to myriad stars iridescent
on black canvas.

Why is it so arduous
for us to believe we are
beguilingly startling
creatures as none?
On human beings and nature
Mar 2018 · 258
Unexpected invitation
aurora kastanias Mar 2018
You took me dancing by the harbour
after snow fell the night, covering
sand and sea in white for an instant
mist in my eyes, as we twirled

towards dizziness held
by the heated pressure of your right
hand posed on my back
the seat of my emotions pressed

against your chest, blind
to others the cold
breeze a scorching ray,
hitting violently on pins and needles

skin an awkward sensation,
confusing ice for fire,
strikes for strokes,
your attention for love.
On encounters and dates
Mar 2018 · 350
Buran Winds
aurora kastanias Mar 2018
As February departs with promises
of spring abandoning premature buds
yellow on solitary mimosa trees left
to freeze and shiver under the unwanted

caress of Russian buran, sternly gliding
over mounts rivers and valleys to cross
the unsurmountable Urals, past graves
to the defeat of many warriors, undaunted

by obstacles to reach the Italian peninsula,
covering lands and my garden in white
blankets of thick soft snow, suffocating my roses,
teasing my ficuses and palms, wringing

firewood to the disappointment of my chimney,
never as now so appealing, chameleonicly
camouflaging my hoary stray cat, it has deserted
its usual spot, its hammock imbued

turning to a colourful icy sheet of material,
as I coincidentally prepare for my physics
exam on climate change, I bring
to shelter my bonsais and baobabs.
On snow covering the garden
Feb 2018 · 310
Power
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
A stranded auburn brittle leaf before me
surrenders to the deftly sweep of zephyr,
coriolically swirling to elevate its conquest
into an air of revolving molecules, colliding,

split by ultraviolets to recombine, ceaselessly
creating shielding layers of evanescence, rare,
delicate, perfect. All in graceful motion
synergically metamorphosing around,

immovable trees deeply rooted in fertile soils,
breathing in our toxics, exhaling our essential
inhales, growing to shade, fauna from irradiance,
that of a star wizardly shilly-shallying with water,

a silent duet, dissolving to ascend
towards the skies, finding freedom in vapours
yet unable to escape, hauled back to rain,
replenish lakes, rivers flowing a course

estuaries to lavishing blue oceans, the depths
in which cells creatively began moulding into shape,
under erumpent tides metronomes of balance
orchestrating and echoing foreplays of attraction,

to a distant enchanting moon of paleness
jealously mimicking the love affair between
Earth and Sun, the first chasing the latter
endlessly in infinite space, as it performs

revolutions around holes of darkness seduced
by its opposite in which it mirrors and identifies
mutual origins, marble games where speeds
of clustered spheres exceed a million miles an hour

where inexistent time beats the rhythm scored
by elegant laws pulling the strings to the dance
of seduction, pirouetting above our blind eyes,
power, as zephyr decides to repose

the auburn brittle leaf once more,
before me.
On nature and the Universe
Feb 2018 · 268
The pendulum
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
Tick-tock the hands of the clock plock
the pendulum swings to the immutable
rhythm of hypnotic seconds measuring time,
the soundtrack to the great oeuvre that is

our life. An existence we perceive
ephemeral, thus instinctively preparing
suitcases since inception, on an earthly
sphere we interpret merely as a vestibule,

be it a pretty one awaiting to embark
on a journey to a destination unknown,
neatly folding experiences one by one,
hiding mistakes between the nethermost

layers, shameful feelings, regrettable deeds
tucked under blankets of tears, loving
sentiments nostalgically stowed as valuables
in secret pockets where fears glow.

Achievements meticulously placed in side-
compartments for easy retrieval, references
just in case, identity printed in capital letters
on a stateless passport holding the blank

ticket stretching ears to heed announcements,
last call for immediate boarding, hopefully
after blowing on candles times enough
for departure to be tolerable, desirable. Yet

the bell tolls every so often unexpectedly,
rendering the baggage of a life time instantly
redundant, while climbing the invisible ladder
naked, slowly dissolving into the ether, a rapid

transition between who we are, have been
and will be once more, pure energy melting
to recompose, metamorphosis in tune not
with the pendulum but with the mute

timeless cosmic flow encompassing all,
the solemn moment the weight suspended
from the pivot ceases to swing.
On death and beyond
Feb 2018 · 191
Soliloquy
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
‘How many hairs on the palm
of your hand?’ my father used to ask
waiting to note, whether I would look.

‘None!’ gullible little me would reply
as he smiled asserting the quest
was in itself indeed the first

sign of madness,
to my bittersweet disappointment.

Little would he know then, that years
later growing up I would no longer search
yet would suffer as it happens from

mental distress,
to my tortured existential struggle.

Learning to hide hints and symptoms
of derangement I would confide
only to my Self, beloved faithful ally,

thereby exhibiting the second sign
solaced by Aurora to believe it was fine
whilst enjoying the conversation.

A dialogue between the many versions
of Self unfolding, for me to discover ego
laughing to my jokes, caressing my cheeks

whispering words of soothing power,
sympathising with endeavours
clement with my limits, coaching me

to courageously strive
to surpass them.

Counting stories of imagination
which would later be written
by my hands holding fountain pens

pouring ink on mute white papers,
a life of insanity within which
reason finds its peaceful abode.

As I now look around and observe
all the sane normal people who neglect
listening and talking to themselves,

I realise that my soliloquy engenders
a unique blissful bond, whereby
the trillion pieces composing me all

interconnect soundly rooted
in essential loving accord.
On talking to self
Feb 2018 · 164
Creating sounds
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
Muteness creates sounds, warning perils
as hyenas shrewdly approach shelters,
expressing needs of thirst and hunger
when lands run dry and fruits perish,

chanting instincts sparked by seasons
eliciting mating overtures inspired,
drawing pictures on cave walls
to indelibly report, leave a legacy

of human exploits, enduring struggles,
nascent cultures and traditions,
storytelling striving to be faithful
to a truth the only known, evolving

to engender words made of letters
placed in devised orders to confess
thoughts and feelings, exchange concepts
and ideas, bring minds closer to reflect

upon the myriad marvels of a world yet
to be discovered. Eclipses. Crafting caravels
designing maps, recording wonders
encountered in search of an end, a limit

where it all began, keeping Captain’s log
fearing the monsters of the unknown,
tornados and typhoons a presage
of death inducing mortals to call

for mercy upon immortal gods,
fantastically explaining what reason is unable
to decipher. Singing songs to raise moral
until bashing locutions begin to bless

far more than slaps and blades, hanging ropes,
lightning and storms, using them to hurt
with intentions turned malicious, ingenious
communicative talents drowning

in oceans of wickedness and shame, leading
man to regret to have ever invented words
in the first place, leaving me with just one
sound of indwelling grief, a sigh, succumbing

tuning back to muteness.
On words
Feb 2018 · 241
Carnal identity
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
The casing we cling onto so greatly
reassures us that indeed we do exist,
for our impalpable spirit
at times, appears merely a dream.

Our eyes in which we look so deep
as if attempting to grasp the within,
shining bliss or saddenedly opaque
dilate at every fascinating detection,

our hair of many colours, curly or straight
a frame to our visage round or oval
we recognise as ours, reflected on
crafted sea sand for us not to forget,

who we are, focusing on its features
one by one, wrinkles portraying
our escapades scrutinised in search
of traces of happiness amid the many scars,

as a central protuberance inhaling
detects scents of others
registered to elicit memories, red lips
our mouth uttering sounds we call words

through vibrating vocal chords stored
in our throat, our neck tirelessly supporting
the head, on our shoulders bearing
the knots revealing our frustrations

insanity, while arms are still willing
and able to carry out intentions,
five fingered hands at their extremities
to mould ideas give them space

in the physical realm, our torso
encaging to protect muscles
pumping life where distinction
is made between woman and man,

for she in clothing hides her *******
of nourishment for progeny to grow,
our stomach flat or bloated conceals
a second mind, enteric nervous system

responding to emotions, our pelvic
cavity beneath, where reproductive organs
give, pleasure to the living
engendering new lives, our thighs,

knees and calves supporting
our every motion so that we
could wander the land discover
understand, our feet

rooted to the ground for balance,
for us not to loose touch
with reality fly away
in realms of fantasy, our skin

delicate involucre of it all, shelling
our skeleton keeping us *****, protecting
trillions of cells
unfathomably combining to compose,

us.
On human body
Feb 2018 · 432
Conceptions
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
My birth was an infinite hazard slowly
suddenly sparked by a singularity, dense,
blazingly intense, warm womb of everything
to be to become, pitch black smaller than a pea

induced to expand, quantum fluctuations,
give to acquire space, to grow, foreshadow my
future existence, forbearing the libertine conduct
of particles wooing, playing games of attraction

abiding by laws elegantly unwritten, striving
to unite yet at moments repelled, by forces
unfathomable, a dynamic courtship unaware,
unconscious drive of conscienceless creations.

When, an endless labour of spinning behaviour
engenders rarity, beguiling perfection, where,
a molten sphere dances around a fiery young star
at a demure distance to lose heat and hoard

water, become a sphere of stone, a cosmic
delivery room yielding conceptions, billions of species
born, lived and extinguished, primordial ancestors
evolving I was brought into existence. Who am I?
On birth
Feb 2018 · 171
My, I miss you
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
Incessant musings of you compel me
to cease attempts of drawing our bond
to a close inevitably only reminiscing
your coquettish simper, manic gaze, the depth

of your unhinged voice as you theatrically recited
a brilliant rendition of the divine, Comedy
captivating my awe and admiration, interludes
to endless rounds of battles unilaterally sparked,

by you out of the blue. Instantly silenced as I
never knew when you would start them nor how
to bring quarrels to an end, incapable of finding
rational meaning or a reason for there never were

any other than your debilitating insanity
of which you were tragically aware. Asking for
forgiveness wiping out my tears in those,
rare glimmers of lucidity short lived moments of delight.

I vividly remember myself laughing in your arms,
as you recounted ironic comic versions
of Bible anecdotes. Where Jesus was just another fellow
with whom you sympathised, rhapsodising over

your uncomprehended similarities. Gentle gestures
towards strangers, innate altruism, love
for Earth and Humanity as a whole.
With individuals you appeared to have a problem

as they recurrently rewarded you with a cross.
On love
Feb 2018 · 183
A reason to muteness
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
Wallowing in rolling under the covers
only very slowly awaking from slumbers,
half way between Morpheus and Aletheia
my eyes were still closed when the first

thought of you crawled into the warmth
of my morning bed. Serendipitous encounter
forged by your last night’s cajoling words,
lured yet reluctant to give in too swiftly

I thwart the voicing of my impulse, convincing
myself that if I wait a little longer
this blazing fever will clemently abate.

As I settle for the amiable embrace of sunbeams.
On morning imagination
Feb 2018 · 162
Illusions of silence
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
Praising silence delusional pagans
interpret perception of finite senses
fabricating concepts outlawed by reality,
as sounds audible and imperceptible

travel through mediums elastic and viscous,
eardrums capture peculiar waves of pressure
whilst bodies distinguish pulsating tremors.
What a prodigy! The auditory privilege

aural ability to hear, billows crashing
on shores, winds blow through crispy leaves
of ancient trees, where enamoured nightingales
sing, mating tunes humans reproduce.

Deepening breaths and sighs, musical
compositions voicing instruments while
vocal chords intone words that bring us closer,
exchange ideas, bequeath stories of verities.

Yet, increasing volumes may disrupt
fragile minds eager to listen, in a society
creating noises of its own to fill the voids
left by melodies unheard, disregarded

to the benefit of klaxons, traffic jams, alarms,
frantic rolling stock, people shouting
offenses, constructors drilling to insanity,
and if you listen carefully, energy stream

through electric wires an incessant hum
to which we are clumsily attuned. Our silence,
all but silent, ridded of the rest we could hear,
eyes bat, air flow gently into our lungs, blood

run through our veins, heart beat to a rhythm,
synapses sparkle thoughts impossible to hush,
internal heat engender emotions, flickering
sensations roar. Seducing silence only purpose,

perceive the entirety of all
the universal melodies unheard.
On silence
Feb 2018 · 209
Bathing rhapsody
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
Eyes dimmed by calicanto vapours find

ecstasy in blurs as sandalwood scents arise
from burning candles, melding to provoke
an original entrancing redolence, a fay’s
potion delicately sending me into raptures.

Cocooned in the crystalline aqueous lymph
nakedness allows fondling drops to slither,
softly caressing skin with each emersion only
to immerse once more for greater pleasure.

Intensifying warmth enhances my perception
of this bliss persuaded, that nothing else
could touch me in this place, placental womb
imperturbable enchantment, secluded, from

reality shielded by a shell made of steam.

Enthralling haze incites fantasy to unleash
enticing indulgence in blind hallucinations
where ethereal substance imposes its flesh
upon my liquescing essence.

Chimerical cleansing drowning impurities
that will escape, when I’ll remove the cap
I will watch them whirl away, sheathed
in my bathrobe a chalice of red wine

will remain untouched as I’ll refuse
to relinquish the beguiling delight.
On little leisures
Feb 2018 · 187
The Labyrinth of time
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
While Ariadne held the clew
for Theseus to find his way,
a thread to escape the labyrinth
where the Minotaur was slayed,

Persephone awaited spring
to part from Hades and arise
from the underworld blossom
flora to earthlings jubilation,

Penelope kept her promise
declining suitors twenty years
for Odysseus to return, to her,
eternal wait in the maze

of leisurely time.

Oh time, so rapidly evolving
into a fleeting concept,
from a blessing to a curse, chased
out of fear of losing it, ridiculous

illusions of possession,
for how could anyone ever lose
something that never was
theirs in the first place?

While wait and slowness once were
an intrinsic part of life embraced,
rejected by industrial revolutions
technological progresses two

seconds too many for a message
to travel from Rome to outer space
ricocheted by a satellite
across the ocean to the surface

of a new world, is a wait long enough
to drive any human insane.
On time
Feb 2018 · 246
To all those I chanced upon
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
To all those I chanced upon in past realms I recall
every one of you, needless of effort as hoard
your encounter within me completing the oeuvre
painting my essence, portraying my existence.

To you my kindergarten friend I wonder
what you have become. Golden curls enveloping
your round freckled face I took you by your hand,
dragged you everywhere I went.

Do you still trade leaves for pine nuts?

To you my circus man, counting stories of a second
World War comradery as we walked the morning hours
with your two white fluffy poodles through Roman
squares helping painters put up their stands.

Do you still wear your leather cowboy boots?

You they say one never forgets. We grew together
on summer holidays in Greece until you grew a passion
for hunting dogs and with the clumsy excuse
of taking them for a walk took me to the woods

on a moonless night for my first kiss.

To you who stuck with me through thick and thin
showering me with affection always a master
in making me laugh, epicurean philosophies to live
a happy life. Eloping fantasies neglected until we parted.

Did you ever make it to Australia?

And what about you my blues musicians, guitars
in our hands carelessly seated on the ***** floors
of San Lorenzo, we used to dance exchanging
our experiences for beers and shots of ***.

Do you still play notes of Vaughan?

To you my old-time street stranger homelessly
keeping an eye on me along my nocturnal returns,
when singing birds announce colours and odours
of the dawn as we shared warm croissants at four.

Are you still alive?

To all those I chanced upon in past realms I recall,
You are oh so many blessed gifts of life to me,
I thank you for completing the oeuvre painting
my essence portraying my existence.
On past acquaintances
Feb 2018 · 155
Creeping notes of pleasure
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
Seated at the candle-lit dinner table my
aural senses distracted by musicians neglect
the biographic monologue of the diner before me.
Feet impulsively impose their rhythmic behaviour

timidly beating the floor, improvised drums
silenced whilst nonchalantly looking elsewhere,
artless reaction to captivating tunes, pretending
self-possession as vibrations slowly softly gently creep

along my spine, flowing through veins and nerves
altering heartrate unable to make believe interest
in words unheard any longer, finely tuning to meld
when my head ineluctably yields to sway inviting,

the rest of my body and him to follow. ‘Stand up!’
I interrupt rolling shoulders beamingly gazing
into his eyes, eager to be swung, swirling hips
outpouring sensuality, his and mine getting closer

until hands meet each other’s skin enticing and
though everything is warmer shivers swiftly cloud
my shutting eyes, dizziness inebriating movement
entranced, pleasantly losing consciousness

into his arms with a final Do.
On music and passion
Feb 2018 · 182
The Great Rock
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
I touched water yesterday white and cold,
purposely hardened by pugnaciously low
temperatures fighting to withhold
the solid fluid against a thieving star, roaring

sweltering rays to melt, moulded men
made of snow, as the girl grew disappointed
expecting whipped cream texture, lack of softness,
digging deep with fingers covered in gloves,

to make ***** to throw at others who will smile
at the jovial play, insensitive to the endeavours
of the eroded mountain modelled by many million
years of scorching suns, blistering winds,

blizzards freezing falls as they cascade, sculptures
made by nature crossed by bridges, so heavenward
drivers succumb to overwhelming giddiness
before entering an endless claustrophobic tunnel,

where science laboratories hide secrets
of the universe under a three thousand meter
elevated rock. The Great Rock of Italy an immense
park, where protected species graze unscathed,

farmers’ labours engender culinary delights
for an imprisoned dictator, while
physicists discover neutrinos beating light
at a dashing race, and Ladyhawke mutates to fly

over a nocturnal vagabonding wolf. I touched
water yesterday, white and cold, and I could
only imagine the enthralling moment when
spring will come and all shall liquesce

to replenish rivers and lakes, irrigating soils
for centenary trees to blossom once again
granting life to living creatures witnessing
the grand spectacle of perfectly attuned cycles.
On the Great Rock of Italy
Feb 2018 · 163
Evanescing fear
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
Sombre footpaths dewed with vapours
of fear condensed I walked, petrified I
would lose command, my mind, my reason,
my reflection tormented by

a malfunctioning intellect never ceasing
to ponder. Myriads of thoughts I thought
would lead me to insanity until, forebodings
swiftly evanesced under beams before me,

incandescent light radiated by the closest
star, leaving me alone, in ecstasy
of a fearless journey within the immensity
encompassing, voluntarily surrendering

control only trusting, my gut in tune
with the natural volition of The All.
On fear and freeing from it
Feb 2018 · 173
Watercourses
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
Primeval drops concealed
in meteorites cascading
on a coagulating planet
where temperatures dove,

just enough to hoard
the lymph gingerly forming
oceans springing life, birthing
after many million years

of labour humans, hiding
inside their beings composing
their bodies dooming,
them endlessly to need

liquid blue paragons covering
the surface of a rocky sphere,
while only few dare to dig in
deeper. Of the entire treasure only

one percent can quench
the thirst of living creatures yet,
as all diamonds on Earth entice
ignoble notes of greed,

the exchequer is governed
by unfair rulers careless
of the poor, albeit their poverty
is by them imposed.

I spoke words of water
cycles to the kids who walked,
miles with buckets to polluted rivers,
frantically running to place

rusted containers under
sporadic tropical rains. They listened
and looked at me in awe,
uncomprehending why

some had less and some had more.
To date each time I open
the faucets each drop,
reverberates my gratitude

as my skin absorbs, particles
saddened by the unjust
sharing of a gift
given to us by stars.
On water and its distribution
Feb 2018 · 116
Choking on passion
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
Deferral an insidious skulking mortal
born out of apathy where tenacity is held.

Creeps through nerves leaving trails
of poisonous narcotics, pulls on the strings
of a fragile brain.

Feeds on a grit in lethargy
mind desperately seeks to awake,

contaminates ambitions by turning
desires into dreams.

Finds it death by chocking
On gulps of great passions and resolve.
On defferal
Feb 2018 · 163
Words of inspiration
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
My dearest friend I retrieved my old
fountain pen today to pour, on canvas
note papers my doubts, feelings
of dire necessity for I, need of you a favour.

I confess I find myself confused, in the mist
of nothingness unable to decipher my scope
at a crossroad blocked, in front of a sign
which says ‘Stop!’ .

Buxom lands enticing with chimeras
on my right, nature’s might sparkling splendours,
colourful vibrations I perceive, notes of purifying
silence echoing the songs of inhabitants untouched,

by mind queries existential enquiries it feels,
beautiful and lonely over there. Then again,

I see buildings reaching for the skies
on my left, lights bright, people frantically in motion,
they seem to have a purpose and a mission,
places to go, things to do, dreams to make come true.

Some of them create oeuvres revealing grandeur it feels,
challenging and crowded over there. Yet ahead,

of me are unfolding sceneries of possibilities awaiting
as I loiter and expect, your card a few words
I beg of you of inspiration but, please hurry my friend
as a line is about to turn into a jam, behind me.

My precious me I received your letter
with affection comprehending qualms.
Do not dwell any longer for your confusion
is unfunded. The nothingness you feel

does not exists all is, perpetually becoming
including us human beings, fragile creatures
uncomprehending the essence of our journey
yet eager to select, a direction giving sense,

of control not of purpose. Though you are
at a crossroad know you are not compelled
to choose, you can have it all by giving up
control, let your spirit lead you where it wills

and bare in mind, to be happy and just all the time.
Treat your likes with kindness and keep smiling,
look forward for what you call “ahead” is only
a matter of perspective. Yours sincerely, me.
On life crossroads
Feb 2018 · 283
Love to me
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
I will be born in fourteen hours
thirty-seven years ago,
from the labour of my mother
into Doctor Lucatelli’s hands.

How could I have known or did I
the amazing wondrous life reserved,
the privileges in store the blessing
of a consciousness that dares.

I will be a happy child, emanating joy,
adults and elders will listen to my stories
imbued with my essence, imbrued in fantasy
sparkling smiles.

In my teens they will compliment me
on my wisdom and gentleness, sense
of responsibility, little will they know
the freedoms I’ll enjoy, the libertine notes.

By the age of majority I will defy
death, a fight to see who’s stronger
needless to say, I will win over and over again,
I’ll get acquainted with myself.

I’ll graduate and find a job, have a kid
at twenty-three, a second four years later
a lifetime friendship with their adorable father.
I’ll be successful in building projects for others.

Until I won’t. I soon will realise what I want
find my courage and decide, to become
rather than merely be, me. Fast-forward
another ten years, see books be published,

indulge in writing poems,
study the universe and the mind,
observe as if it was my first day,
beginning in fourteen hours.
On my birthday
Jan 2018 · 473
Farewell Hugh
aurora kastanias Jan 2018
Grazin’ in the grass was mellow indeed
when you blew into your trumpet
blaring sounds of peace. What a trip!
Just watchin' as the world goes past,

you used to say playing notes of jazz.
Music of resistance for a tortured land
imbued in the blood of its natives bashed,
by the impudent high-handed little white man.

As your grandmother cared for you and miners
in illegal bars, piano keys enticed dreams of hope
for second class citizens silenced by oppression,
while the chaplain gave you your first instrument.

Little did you know the melodies you’d pour
on the rampant fires of blatant injustice.
Little did you know the strength you would instil
embodying possibilities, shedding light on the obscure.

Soweto blues you composed as Miriam gave
her voice to screaming mothers to cry out,
atrocities in town. Bring Him Back Home
you sang from afar until they did, and you

returned to see the prisoner walk free,
down the streets hand in hand with Winnie.
Only afterwards I heard your words and will
to show the people just how

wonderful and excellent they are.
A message I cherish and the reason why
many will remember you, your tune your smile,
as he who kept the torch of freedom alive.

A baobab tree has fallen indeed.
dedicated to Hugh Masekela
Jan 2018 · 304
Calling David
aurora kastanias Jan 2018
This is ground control
I sneaked in to give you a call,
it’s been a while and I yet wonder
are you still floating ‘round your tin can?

Since you launched in sixty-nine
not much has changed on planet Earth,
though Voyager one has left the system
recording sounds of Interstellar Space.

Its batteries are running low
but then other probes are on their way
rest assure, they are not searching for you
you’ve been forgotten long ago.

Scientists still question whether
indeed there is life on Mars,
planning missions to get there
we’ll leave in fifteen years or so.

Some are drawing domes forsaking
tragedy, creatively painting our escape.
Mickey Mouse has packed his suitcase,
left Minnie waiting in a bar.

Modern telescopes point to discover
exoplanets not too far, just in case,
some residing habitable zones
orbiting nearby stars.

This is ground control
I hear footsteps in the corridor,
have to run will call you again
until then I’ll keep taking care,

of your Diamond Dogs.
On space talking to David Bowie
Jan 2018 · 268
SAKAMOTO’S RAIN
aurora kastanias Jan 2018
Long fingers, strong
as those of a pianist, maestro
entrancing as he strikes ivory
keys unleashing,
hypnotising notes gently
opening with an adagio,
softly incalzando to an allegro
keeping tempo, beating rhythm
to intimacy only awaiting,
reverberation.
On music and intimacy
Jan 2018 · 189
STOMP ME TO INTOXICATION
aurora kastanias Jan 2018
I was born in green valleys to the effort of strong hands
roughened by the harshness of ungentle wintery gales.
Delight permeated space as they smiled to see me flourish,
Showering me with attention, care and compliments.

Perennially making sure I had all I needed as if I was
an incomparable incomplete treasure. For me they went as far
as killing storm clouds to shield me from hail, keep me
warm and protected. I thought they loved me for too much

energy, love and courtesy were devoted to me. Yet,
as soon as I started creatively sculpting blossoms, gems
of garnet concealing ancient praise, on an autumn day,
a distinguished man came to judge me prepared.

And that is when, my gratified father gave the order
to take me to the cellar strip me naked, ****** me
in a large basin, to be trampled over and crushed, shaped
for the pleasure of others. Vampires awaiting a chalice

of blood as my lymph, delicately streamed into barrels.
In agony there I was abandoned, for years secluded until
My release, from wooden prisons to glassed cells.
They dressed me up and took me out to bars,

Sold me to the best bidders promising I would quench,
their thirst and make them forget, sorrows and worries
if only for a night. To date you can still find me at hand,
I’ll be your inebriating servant as I slither into your mouth,

intoxicate your essence with mine.
On vines, grapes and wine
Jan 2018 · 223
The Space Within
aurora kastanias Jan 2018
There is a space, hidden from the eye
Of all creatures residing Earth only I,
Cognise and call my own as I alone,
Walk its secret paths entangled
Meanders ascending towards thoughts.

A cave of shadows revealing its nature,
Where senses are dismissed for ideas
To sparkle intuitions of reality I grasp,
Eyes closed, ears shut, no fire burning
Behind me to project illusions before me.

Here, I defy the diktat of physical condition,
Truths only true to animalistic interpretations,
Inebriated by the spirit of greater verities
A place as immense as the Universe,
Concealed within me pigeonholed Mind.
On a special place
Jan 2018 · 208
Carpets of thin glass
aurora kastanias Jan 2018
Details as tiny flecks of sand,
From the abysses of deepest waters
Rise above creating land,
For us to walk on solid grounds
Carpets of thin glass,
As they unfold immensity
One grain at the time.
On details and sand
aurora kastanias Jan 2018
Published yearly reports on global
development, equality and happiness
introduce, reflections of governance,
economy, wealth and well-being

uneven distribution.

Policies, discrepancies, resolutions,
conflicting interests of individuals
and groups interacting on grounds
of power asymmetries leading to failure.

Bargains amongst elites and greater
citizen engagement only keys, to success
defying rise of authoritarian populism,
a recurring nightmare from the past

century, overturning concepts of human
rights protection, jeopardising freedom
impeding equity and justice amongst,
populations untrusting rulers and neighbours.

Loss of faith in institutions, strain
on international cooperation, a species
struggling to live in society and peace.
Lifestyles devastating nature

while consumerism pollutes, air and waters,
toddlers playing with toys neglecting
consequences and repercussions ignoring,
to every effect there is indeed a cause.

Yet, Humanity is precisely that, a two
hundred thousand years old creeping toddler
learning how to walk. Improvements
cannot be overlooked or flouted,

self-commiseration and deploration the vice
of media-nurtured pessimism, populations
addicted to bad news. Guilty I say those indulging
in irrational despair accepting nothing

can be done and that humanity is doomed,
a cancer to our Earth undeserving anything good.

Yet, life expectancy reaches 71 from 32 in 1900,
child mortality halved since I was born, thirty
years for one point one billion people to move
out of extreme poverty, death penalty ruled

illegal in more than half of all countries,
crime rate falling as crime is recognised
as such and prosecuted, **** no longer
an offense against chastity or morality

but a crime against a Person, torture no longer
an acceptable feature of criminal justice,
as general consensus now deplores it,
our outrage proof of our progress, while

300, 000 more people gain access
to electricity each day, 120 democracies
among the world’s 193 countries,
up from just 40 in the seventies.

Looking for renewable energies,
carbon emissions from fossil fuels fail
to rise, new fields are explored, science
posing questions deemed heretic before.

And of course things could be better
and maybe problems could be solved
faster, but when we fail to see the progress
we make we begin, to stop trying.

And that my dearest friend would be,
the greatest natural disaster in history.
So assemble the broken pieces of your courage,
Turn off the news and make change happen.

Happy 2018.
On Humanity state of affairs
Jan 2018 · 166
Burning bodies
aurora kastanias Jan 2018
Manacles made of thoughts
Enchain spirits encaged
In asymmetric chambers
Of bodies neglecting to heed,

Prisoners they conceal within,
Terrestrial material planes
Where the tangible struggles
To conceive the impalpable yet,

Inexplicably perceives its essence
As it knocks on the soft membranes,
Of a mind striving to connect.
The incarcerator attempting

To acquaint, itself with the incarcerated
Who, peacefully surrenders as it knows
It will be freed from shackles with,
The death of thoughts and the burning

Of the corpse.
On mental chains
Jan 2018 · 286
Out of Love
aurora kastanias Jan 2018
Crystalline waters enclose the rocks
Which ancient sailors swore to be,
The remnants of genesis leftovers
Of creation ****** deep, in the heart

Of the Mediterranean sea. Stones
Of philosophers mystic alchemy,
Metamorphosing mercury into precious metals,
Silver and gold, thoughts and ideas.

Blissful grounds of Magnum Opuses
In search of enlightenment where arid soils,
Nurture the trees symbolising peace
Delivering fruits treasuring divine,

A golden juice, a gift from Athena, goddess
Of wisdom gently slithering In Greek veins,
Inebriating essence with innate, gratitude
Towards nature and pride for roots profoundly,

Entrenched in concepts of liberty equality
Justice for all human beings, are equal by nature
Social animals responsible for,
Governing themselves within a civil society

Of free individuals. A land encompassing
A thousand islands, perpetual movement
Of tectonic plates under a blistering sun,
Caressing mountains a tireless breeze, whirls

The little white flowers off olive trees,
Now embodying the pervasive spirits of past
Conquerors standing on millenary blood-bathed
Territories ruled, yet by the twelve Olympians

A mythology while history is written
And narrates, the story of the men who fought
For pride and glory earthly vices
And out of Love.
On Greece
Jan 2018 · 276
Satin and lace
aurora kastanias Jan 2018
Magic arboreal lights suffuse
amid the fertile underwood,
sheltered by rebirthing leaves
on the tall tree branches of a secret

forest, after the white cold carpet
of pale snow gives way to nature’s
awakening, from wintry lethargy
when plants and flowers rise

to blossom, green pastures offer
fertility to the somnolent hungry
inhabitants, as marvelled they gaze
in wonder fault of an archaic ingenuity

before, what are unknown to humans
as fireflies. To date all still ignore
the prodigies and riddles they carry,
their beguiling looks and doings,

for they shine to hide from incredulous eyes
omitting they are the ones who ring
the bells of spring’s return. Minute
enchanting creatures of sapphire silk

hair dressed in aquamarine
satin and lace, fays bearing
the magical lanterns of life.
Jan 2018 · 160
DETAIL DECEPTION
aurora kastanias Jan 2018
Details shape perspectives killing time
classifying experiences drawing lessons
from the past to live a fleeting
present wrapped up in comfort offered
by the most illusive conviction we are
ensuring a mistakeless future laying

the grounds to understanding.

People hurt others and themselves, a fact,
have and will do so again, might as well
rationalise and take notes, categorise offenses
under text book notions of human psyche.
To pseudo comprehend, believe they surely did
it out jealousy or envy, inferiority complex, greed,

fear of rejection, of commitment, fear
tout court, latent ancient traumas, alcoholism,
loneliness, inadequacy, stress, lack of fantasy,
defence mechanisms, revenge and rage,
frustration, Freudian mums and dads to blame,
poverty, miseducation or in vogue bipolar

mental disorders.

Newly labelled manic depression justifying
the indefensible, falling under the taxonomy
of psychological disease. Victim of one’s mind
or coward in disguise? And if evil be an illness
would it follow that, with no fault comes no crime?
The catalogue complete, what is left a bunch of notes

recorded in the abyssal perplexity of tired
brains, aged bones. A life spent studying flaws
instead of standing in awe in front of All.
While if, zooming out from details to focus
on bigger pictures, homes become nations,
neighbourhoods Earth, individuals Humanity,

the Universe,

partial essence of which we are, traveling
without moving through mysterious space
under mystic laws we call, Natural.
Do they determine who we are? And if,
ridding of the catalogue I am reborn,
a newfound meaning looking far beyond,

to see amazing little creatures stubbornly survive,
to live and endure, prove we are
much more than complexes and fears,
ambitions and diseases, corrupted thoughts,
but a miracle of feelings, eager to learn,
only beginning to become,

aware of itself.
On details and prejudice
Jan 2018 · 140
Coach eight seat eight C
aurora kastanias Jan 2018
Coach eight seat eight C, I repeated
incessantly when my mind decided
to abandon my folly and me. My only
companion an unstable incapacity

to think. A brain refusing any incoming
synapse, neurons pretending deafness
as I shouted out for help from within,
searching for myself and my protector

me. Coach eight seat eight C, when
the doctor decided to keep me in, no
signature to affix on papers to ensure
my release, they had managed to teach

me, I should ask for help when I could
not aid myself, and so I did. Twenty-four
hours of surveillance before I could
finally escape from he who voluntarily

tortured my reason. Getaway. Ran to
the harbour, bought the ferry ticket left
the island, crossed the sea, reached
the mainland. The chaos of Naples felt

like peace to me. Proceeded to the station
glimpsing behind me as if followed by a ghost,
bought the train ticket, Coach eight seat eight C,
I repeated incessantly when my mind decided

to abandon my folly and me. I recovered
eight weeks later in the safe of love and lack
of attention, for those who know me know
I despise the mercy of the spotlight. Let me be

and I will just be.
On losing one's mind
Jan 2018 · 146
With life comes death
aurora kastanias Jan 2018
With life comes death, a beginning
and an end, to all things humans may
perceive, all we see, is born and lives,
then evolves until it dismantles into

disappearance, slowly vanishing beyond
our senses, as if suggesting nothing is
after it has been. Swirling particles
of hydrogen pulled together by a force,

labelled gravity to give, birth to stars.
By the same effect twirling dust and rocks
breed, planets scattered randomly through
a dynamic space expanding from day one.

Once more a beginning. Yet we’ve seen
supernovas and collapsing spheres,
mountains form and trees grow, flowers
blossom, animals reproduce, we multiply,

ourselves having babies if we are lucky
out of love, physical chemistry keeping
humanity alive, for a glimpse of immortality
striving to defy, time. Yet we’ve seen

mountains corrode under conditions,
atmosphere, sunrays, wind, snow and rain,
trees wither, flowers fade, carcasses decay,
into ashes babies grow to old age then pass

away. Everything inducing us to believe
all has, a beginning and an end, that with life
comes death, unable nonetheless,
to convince our spirits of the same.

Intuition proposing a never-ending always
has been, unfolding mystic carpet of bewilderment
and awe, where energy incessantly mutates,
and cannot be created nor destroyed.
On life and eternity
Dec 2017 · 497
I love her
aurora kastanias Dec 2017
I have known her forever even when
others didn’t and did not care, to get
acquainted with a toddler for kids are
to listen and learn not to teach and tell,

neglecting to see the kindness, empathy
naturally flowing from inside. Innate qualities
of humans I thought to myself as she kept
rising doubts and queries to herself.

I have always loved her even when
others might have thought I did not know
how to. From the moment she became aware
of herself each time she looked deeply into,

the abysses of her big brown pupils reflected
by bathroom mirrors on window glasses
in calm water streams englobing an entire,
vision of a paradisiac Universe bursting within.

I have had jealous feelings for her when
enveloped in the loving eyes of parents
family friends and teachers, everyone
adored her, the way she made them feel,

the joy she brought the smiles she showered,
the respect she showed as she listened engaged
in heeding others, grasp meanings wisdoms
lessons from the elder, sitting beside them.

I always admired her even when
others thought she could not make yet
any sense. From the moment she became
aware of others each time she smiled

or cried wondering why, rejoicing for shared
occasions when adults also laughed flaunting
possibilities of happiness, despairing for harms
done unable to answer the simplest question.

I have always protected her more so when
others believed I was only trying
to **** her. From the moment she became
aware of injustice discrepancies cruelty,

poverty illness wrongdoings, warmongering
cycles of greed and vengeance, ‘life’s not fair’
repeated the adults dismissing, her ordeal
and disdain for what she could not turn blind eyes to.

I increasingly thought she was too
beautiful and pure to risk being affected,
corrupted in growth to become
mediocrely adjusted, following paths

of others. Until she grew and investigated
the Universe, understanding that life goes far
beyond Earth’s binding gravity, and that indeed
there is much more to all, changing perspectives.

I breathe her daily and now see how
small and fragile people are, within a Universe
so expanse, learning to appreciate them all,
recognising their might as a species developing

something even science cannot explain.
That crazy little thing called Love probably
the greatest thing of all, what makes our race
so special, worthy of compassion in hope of liberation.

I inhale her every thought and consideration
admire her ability to love humanity
as a whole, realising others are not
our hell after all, and that together

paying attention to imperceptible details
we can all evolve, into what we truly are
the best of ourselves in this wondrous
astounding Universe. She is I and I am she.

I love her.
On love of self
Dec 2017 · 176
Calenture abreactions
aurora kastanias Dec 2017
While four hauled on ropes
with all their might to heave
the vessel the rest of us pushed
as hard as we could for it to slip,

over rolling wood stems of nearby
centenary trees, cylinder boles cut
collected and positioned neatly
on the beach. Feet sinking in sand

scorching skin for what could have been
the last time, ingenious procedure
to ****** the mended old ship
at sea, once more to sail where winds

would blow her, hope would lead her.
Little did we know the two would take
us far into nowhere abandoning tars
to the mercy of blistering quiet.

No gale no direction other
than sudden calenture affecting
all the crew the captain miles
away from any coast under

hallucinogenic revelations
delivering abreactions
unexpected introspection
resulting in acquaintance

with self. Until storm was greeted
with joy mouths wide-open
like kids sticking tongues
out to seize drops of unsalted

fresh water after seven
days of compulsory ***
depletion. Invigorated a new
battle introduced its imminence,

waves as high as ancient temples
were the rival faced
while lowering sails to survive
unwilling to surrender yet

searching for land
through reluctant biting lashes until,
the last billow we saw captured
us and closed our eyelids,

forevermore.
On life and challenge
Nov 2017 · 452
Drowning hours
aurora kastanias Nov 2017
Enticing transparency of glass, crafted
sand shaping figure, wide cavity craving
to be filled allowing, oxidation melding
to capture oxygen emanate aromas,

inebriating flavours held by opaque
long stems impeding my consideration, I want
I do not, an automated old recurring gesture
creeping slowly from within, whispering

no harm will come from flowing, burgundy
liquid gold in the abyssal hole where stormy
tides hide ghostly presence, of memories
left behind. Fooling mind in thinking I

am only slightly, braking the rule being
responsible by starting, lightly. It is only
eleven after all and with a drop it’s twelve
before I know. A more appropriate time

to indulge, caressing bottles faithful
lovers pouring to please me, while
viciously they hurt me slithering inside.
I select the self-inflicted idea, that I can deal

I do not, have a problem if I cut, down
that’s just because I want to, not because
I have to. And I am more fun, I can relate
Or at least pretend I do without, feeling

like a fish out of water I can laugh disregarding,
the harm that has been done, to me
of which I am weary. Believe me it is scary.
And as my lips turn purple despite a soothing

taste I don’t like, myself in this state I rather,
run to my refuge where I do. Love humanity
yet know so well, no one will ever care, more
for me than myself. Miss that little girl,

always smiling counting stories, now
shading behind glasses to keep every other
being at a distance. Unable to flout
the Universe’s tendency unlike humans,

to prefer me when I am sober. They don’t
know, how could they, believing they are
worried when they claim I need it, a social
life yet they ignore, how overly populated

is my soul, encompassing them all.

Last drops and I linger regretting
lost hours drowned in wine.
On Alcoholism and sobriety
Nov 2017 · 989
And yet she moves
aurora kastanias Nov 2017
And yet she moves, silently,
spinning and swirling endlessly
revolving, around a rousing star,
elegant ballet stealing radiance

indulging in warmth, in glacial
space unfathomable sphere
of incandescence, fluid rubicund
lava leisurely turning into blue

water, mystifying evolution
randomly combining hydrogen
and oxygen elements to unfold,
a liquid carpet englobing

all, to the mercy of a pale
faced moon, meticulously keeping
a distance so perfect and rare
to bear, mutating molecules

spontaneously deciding to form
cells, eager to evolve slowly
birthing life in its depths, breathing
to ensure, generous exchange

a fair give and take, a cycle where
harmonic balance is
the orchestrated oeuvre
of an omnificent composer

inventing notes of gravity,
creating abstruse species
out of fantasy, only to craft
itself a witness, capable

of understanding the amazing
wonders it ceaselessly unfurls.
On Earth
Nov 2017 · 306
Loving Lufu
aurora kastanias Nov 2017
As Earth spun to unfold a kind
creating sounds it calls upon
to express a thought a feeling
a sensation it barely comprehends,

life at the remnants of the core
of what once was a unique land
named Pangea evolved,
to get acquainted with a notion

that would reign thereon.

It all happened in an area
of encounters where gothic Liufs
held dear by German Lieb
saw Lief the Dutch and Liaf the Frisian

fall for Liof the Saxon catching Lob
praising Liebe rejoicing in the arms
of Liubi. Until came Lufu the English
who desired and felt romantic

****** attraction it believed worthy
of a noun all to itself, and that is when
Luve came into the scene to be greater
than anything else, a word

no one would ever forget.
While behind the curtains
Albanian Lyp begged needing Lips
demanding for more.
On the etymology of love
Nov 2017 · 220
It’s been too long
aurora kastanias Nov 2017
It’s been three months since I last,
And I thought I wouldn’t mind, I sufficed
My hands engaging, writing delicate words
Overwhelming spirit only craving,

Transcendence of my thoughts
To the esoteric demesne of the unknown.

Yet I now find myself, dreaming carnal dreams
At night, unwilling to wake up to indulge
A little more, in the arms of faceless fantasy
Seducing me in warmth. A lover’s touch,

Rolling under covers in the mist
Of vapours exhaling from intensifying breaths,
Whimpering over painful delights
Of pleasure, eyes closed

Until they open to discover
It was sun beams caressing, not a body
Nor a smile, sensual gaze disappearing
In consciousness arousal as I strive,

To return to sub realms lost in REM
As fast as they flashed before me
Seven seconds of intimacy I thought,
I did not need.

Untranscending anatomy rooted
In the corporeal demesne of the known.
On sensual dreams
Nov 2017 · 198
Road trip anecdote
aurora kastanias Nov 2017
Leaving the highway for the curvy rural lane
Moonless pitch-black night returning
From Rome to the heart of its green belt.
Where the countryside seduces farmers

With shiny nuggets on primeval trees,
Mediterranean gold, liquid olives
To be harvested and milled.
Up for bids to the greatest connoisseur,

Sabine hills the scenery of ancient Roman wars,
Where oil was not the only ****** to be picked and sold.
Sabine hills the refuge of deserters and the set,
Of my Romeo’s exhale after fixing its spark plug.

My lover at the steering wheel, my brother at the back,
Myself on the passenger seat listening to music
Smoking dreams away. ‘Smells like something’s burning’
A comment from the rear, to which the driver promptly

Responded ‘Your sister just lit a cigarette’.
Temporarily satisfying the doubt,
‘It’s getting hot in here’ was the next remark.
To which the patient answer followed

Blaming me once more. ‘Your sister just turned
the heater on’ And it made sense until
Few minutes later, flames burst out of engines
Glimpsing from the sides of a bonnet melting.

‘Stop and run for your lives!’ the unspoken words
And so I did, looking back only when I reached
A distance to see, my beloved brother attempting
To escape blocked by child safety locks for absent kids.

Turning down the window to jump out,
Dukes of Hazzard style. By the time
The police and fire fighters arrived,
Nothing but the steal incandescent skeleton

Was left of what once was my first car. Paid for
It two years still, until the last instalment
Made me laugh about it ever since.
My brother not so much.
On road trip gone bad
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