Paris is always a good idea*
Said once
Audrey Hepburn.

Paris is always glittering
Whenever you go there
It is worth visiting
But not worth living.
For that matter
It is too good
To lodge there.

Waiting for luck
Living in day
Hoping for best
I have found my way.

Soothing my soul
Smiling in pain
Longing to say
I have lost my way.

Looking for bliss
Coming out of grey
Finding my love
I have conquered my way.

In the forest you find
the peaceful route
the quiet, one of a kind
to contemplate about.

Deep in thought seeing
the mysteries of nature
far in fantasies flying
greeting passing creatures.

In daydream you wish
that trees had the wings
hoping for their soft kiss
when love lullabies sings.

The shadow of knowledge
is wonderful but how much
do we actually know?

The matter we perceive is not
a matter to another creature.
Constant change, everywhere
change of matter, change.

The great Tanzanian desert
flowing with sublime sweetness
caresses the mind of bias
with the mystic dunes of music.

The wind which plays shapes
blowing the movement of ash
but is it wind which moves?
The dune moves by itself.

As a walker stepping slowly
the dunes step wisely ahead
making 17 meters per year
a crescent on earth and in sky.

The moon, the sister of the dune
observes its everlasting shape
creeping along the dyne horns
sand cascading into half-moon.

She blows the soft smoke gently away
sitting on her windowsill, the third floor
the darkened horizon melts drowsily
leaving its mysteries to her own heart
as it is not full enough of the madness

She rises slowly with the sweet smoke
turning her head towards the mirk sky
what is there to see, in her own world
closing the eyes to travel infinitely far
as the honey is melting in the tepid tea

She throws her glass of wine away
she smiles and cries as nobody sees
the darkness, deep and cruel but sweet
as is her heart, dark, but yet so soft and kind
painful and hateful, yet so loving and forgiving
mad and crazy but so deeply understanding

Why only the crescent comprehends
only the stars listen to the quiet melody
the songs of love and pure wistfulness
she knows everything but is scared of living
as the world is not kind, instead, it is cruel
the fear, the unknown, the failure of life itself

She puts her finger in the darkened wine
and draws a line on the wall with blood
enjoying the sadness and loving to hate
She likes to be alone, alone, sweet world
You, always alone in your deeds and thought

She sees from far, a distant closeness engulfs
only art saves the heart, only beauty consoles
the crescent starts to fade slowly and softly
many of the clouds swim towards their path
covering the moon and leaving her lying

Withering away as in the mind of destruction
where everything can make a nest within itself
she lies there motionlessly, silently, calmly
listening to every sound her heart whispers to her
as the music starts to play in her head of frenzy

She lived once but not anymore, as all fades
where does this crippling melancholy lead to
the stars never wrote a script for the existence
but they gave the mind a code to decipherer
as they gave the heart a wisdom to learn from

She pours the sweet Bordeaux in front of her
gulping in sips, turning her head, staring ahead
all is sweet, all is beauty, all is art if only you see
shadow the pain and leave it intact for the truth
as the time flows between her fingers to eternity

It´s always we say
That we have lack
Of Time
But Time never has
Lack of anything
It flows in a continuous line
Not even knowing
That somebody
Will say to others
I do not have time
You can not acquire Time
As Time acquires us.

Alone
Rocking slowly on a swing
I close my eyes
And wonder what is love.

Before the dawn greets
gentle steps walk closer
down the glistening snow
but there is nobody near
the soft wind blows away
my essence and exictance
maybe it was only me
strolling along the snow
in my other world of beauty
which nobody sees nor hears
but all the mystery and art
comes to live in the heart.

You wonder the meaning
in thousands of hieroglyphs
the roses you garnered
are still holding their stance.

The artists in fragments
collect their forgotten past
to assemble the untold future
into some hopeful slivers.

Wondering if ever appearing
on the white painted wall
there is a shadow of a candle
or mere illusion of the reality.

The outer silence is broken
By the inner discussion of my
Thoughts and pictures
From the past, present and future.

Im just a little sparkly star
in the heart of the universe
and you are a comet
who just flies by
fast and hastily
and disappearing
into the everlasting
night in the universe
in the 5th dimension

It was just a blink of the eye
and then it was gone
forever, you lost me
into the boundless ocean
in the hands of the Earth
when you drop something
you will only find it
in the hands of Poseidon
guarding strongly the land
of the deep blue eternity

And you will find me
in the heart of the universe
as the tiny sparkly star
sleeping calmly in the darkness
of gravity, matter and time
with no end or beginning

Sometimes I feel like falling
Falling out of reality
And then I am floating
Floating in an imagination
And when reality hits me
I cannot say anymore
Where should be my destination.

The whispers of time
The echoes of eternity
They touch my soul
When they pass by me
The time is a whisper
The eternity is an echo
The soul is a clear glass
Which reflects the infinity.

When you walk your heart
in the Highlands
you hear your soul's notes
harmonising with the wind
you sing Lacrimosa
on the hills to defeat the world's
desperation and hug beauty.

In the morning, a lively blackbird
calls for its loyal companion.
The dawn is young and luminous
As the painting on the old easel.
From the crack of the window
a breeze plays around the vivid room
tenderly touching the dry paintings
of last month’s tears and blood.

Standing at the door, observing,
the eyes wandering carefully
surpassing every slight detail,
closing for seconds, to compose
a pile of memories and pictures.
The coffee, ready on the windowsill,
a gust of smells swirl in the room
melting on the canvas depicting a hill.

Inspiration, I need you, dear muse,
are you blue, black or bordeaux
show me the landscape and love,
pour into me the tingling liquid,
so I can close the eyes and limn,
the paintbrush leaving impressions
like the life leaves traces in my soul
with flammable sharp expressions.

The hill on the threadbare canvas
multiplies as the colours mingle
bold lines swirl into each other,
the Pangoian Hills, fair Koutra,
the glory of Greece embraces it.
Lost in the tale, forgetting the rest,
what else keeps my soul in place
as the world makes it repressed.

I fly thousand miles away, painting
I hear the piano in my head, sonata,
Beethoven, the day’s melancholy.
The brush slides and curl swiftly
the beauty of nature comes to life,
passionate impulse, instinctive urge
precision and fever absorbs the Artist,
irresistible and weakening surge.

Day and night, trying hard to survive
grasping the world’s innate essence
yet never getting back enough or thrive
the Artist works, loves and dreams
living in the marvellous inner world
neatly painting the life of the universe
sitting from place to place, searching
hoping to succeed, trying to immerse.

Years passing, the music still playing
I need ardour to find the meaning.
Greece is glowing under the sunlight
throwing diamonds from the sky.
The Artist senses immense love
soft brush in the hand comes alive,
clear beauty, happiness flowing over
as the Artist eternally closes the eyes.

In the sun-caressed fields
the stars whispering above
beaming their glowing souls
to look after each other's blaze.

Down there a singing spring
creating its diamonds by flow
with the help of the playful sun
and the calm wise silver moon.

A worm becomes a butterfly
under the curled green leaf
to fly through the distant lands
and find its flower in the eternity.

A dancing dew drop sliding
fondling down a brittle bark
like a teardrop in the wide eyes
spilling into the ocean's bed.

Where the flowers speak
and bees prepare honey
the world seems chaotic
a whirling poetic journey.

A path is constructed
down the aisles of trees
among flowers conducted
amidst the busy bumblebees.

Under the joyous sun fly
collect the life and warmth
as far, as fast and as high
a tiny heartbeat storms.

The world is so appealing
inside the tiny bushes
where beauty is revealing
the smells of nature blushes.

Stars glisten softly
in the eternal universe
shedding bright glow
before your wistful steps
strolling down the streets.

Raindrops dance gladly
on the night kissed leaves
the smell of green jasmines
awaken your deep senses
making you halt and listen.

Love and longing rush,
pour down your vessels
you feel the soft glimmer
from depths of the heart
tears of saddness and joy.

A living testament
to this world lies
in front of the beholder.

Nothing is constructed
to last the way of origin.

Thoughts are changing
in the startling swirl
of built worlds on top
of one another.

Access the present
with only the past
or future what is about
to disappear.

Destruction can also
be beautiful.

The kings scream on the mountain
where is all the salvation ending
the broken horses dash in vain
the clock in the water is pending

Oh and the water swallows all
it swallows all until waves recall
where they go and come
they swallow all
until you fall

When the wild rose is blooming
the lost fragments of memories
day's gown is slowly looming
lost beauties a night fairy sees

Oh and the water swallows all
it swallows all until waves recall
where they go and come
they swallow all
until you fall

And still you rise again
as you break the silver chain
and the broken horses lie
in the night sky not in vain

You swing the cradle
of your self-assurance
you attempt to avoid
unavoidable rawness.

You fear always anew
the invisible something
alive only in yourself
in the vastness of mind.

An unspoken parallel
draws diluted senses
closer to life's dwell
of essential existence.

Sweet Eros you are
the inspiration of love
in poetry. On the white
island among the sea
made of your deep
blue eyes and skin
of marble. Sweet Eros
your lush brown hair
and your prominent hands
of energy and beauty
the sweet smell of gardens
and fire elicited by you
on the island of deepness
and peace of mind
every sense of your
presence is love
for your Venus.

As the heart fills with knowledge,
rising from the profound wiseness
of the world's hidden pouches,
the light strikes sharp in the eyes,
as the calmness comes into the soul
which fills quietly like the rising sea,
and the sunset changes into sunrise.

Long are you waiting
the night stars to settle
as in the youth you see
always them glowing.

Staring the sky in quiet
expecting still but less
while nobody removes
the wrinkle on forhead.

In the field
I am gathering
spring sunny blossoms
cherry tree tender branches
under the blue sky
I pace through gardens
braiding a wreath
with those soft flowers
and at night under the stars
I bring my white painted bed
to see you better.

Your escape to the beauty
to the universe in your mind
in the mountains of the white
among stars snow and fireflies.

There shines always delight
moments of wonder and bliss
like dark blue melts with light
a long pause in front of abyss.

Where does the journey end
or begin? You contemplate
to whom you weave longing
not for world to apprehend.

Belle road is your adventure
the voice not to surrender
and you walk, invisible path
steps vanish yet appear anew.

The heart may sleep calmly
in a place where forest grows
the pureness and sharpness
of melancholic memory ride
suddenly guides you aback,
the silence of dropping blood
from the heart to the substratum
of a river's crystal hasty stream
and melt one with the universe.

The colours of seasons
play around the mind
wind caressed leaves
shiver in the crystal sun
with the same resonance
mystical familiar harmony.

They whisper you secrets
from their own worlds
of wisdom and time
while you listen in silence
transforming into music
composed by the nature.

Are we the blossoms of a flower?
Blooming but yet retreating
into our protected element.

Going through growth
do we need a plan
or do we just blossom
and find happiness
in the moments of life's
endless incessant swing.

Changing as the seasons
fly effortlessly yet diversely
by our perception of life.

Are you present in
the presence
among the conditional
of the essence.

Horizon of perfection
is unattainable
unconditional is a dream
unobtainable.

The pain we mingle
in the heart
Is the hope we create
in our Art.

Flowing water pours
its breath to flow
the wind hastily roars
against star glow.

Smell of rose garden
morning dew grass
silky-softened carpet
brittle-laced glass.

Lonely wooden boat
moon-kept blaze barn
eyes closed and afloat
presence is all I yearn.

Is there an edge of forever
the virtuoso about to reclaim
the leap we try to endeavour
and ceaselessly try to aim.

Love lusting butterflies
cold is there, in deep
but warmth comes out
of your yearning soul
what do you hide there
cristalls of forgiveness
pearls of pure wiseness
and drops of sadness
the taste of life is sweet
the taste of living, bitter
mingle the beauty in one
and you see the depth
of love and eternity.

The sun rises above
the white mountain-tops
penetrating air crystals
wondering the beauty.

When the ice melts
it flows down the heart
as the snow breathes
its ceasing stay in visit.

You wonder where
are the melted hearts
you dig down the snow
collecting faded flowers.

Flowers of ice, flowers
of lost illusions and misery
flowers of love and hope
you stitch them all in one.

A night with brittle frost
covering the quiet earth,
a mysterious darkness flows
through the wandering steps.

Eyes on the vanished horizon,
still looking for the answers
from the outer and inner world,
casting the shadows of wonder.

Lightning up the way ahead
with his own gleaming heart
carrying an old antique book
as the most precious gift left.

The creative energy hidden
behind the many hundreds
of doors within yourself
waiting patiently, reluctantly
peeking out when the heart
confronts the body. Yet is
released within one surge
of the shower of stars and
awakening of the Universe.

You plant the seed
of a light delusion
you plan to read
to make conclusions.

The seed is growing
you water the plant
delusions are bowing
in tortured mind's enchant.

Day by day they grow
strengthen their grip
you go along the flow
of delusion's craftsmanship.

In the rising sun
the beauty upholds
its stance,
but the pain
of humanity
is reflected
behind the moon.

The beauty is heart
as long as it has
wings and warmth,
the beauty is soul
as long as it has
sensitivity to hold.

The frenzy of
humanity
rises above
the moon,
but the sun will rise
in hope
every day
and create beauty
to survive.

A dawn, sets upon us,
while notes fly softly
through the humid air.
A language which knows
without words.
Music
the echo of piano
lightens the night
when every feeling
becomes freedom.
Music
the harmony of life
sets its wings
around your soul,
capturing the sorrows,
pouring emotions,
talking the language
of understanding.

You hold the goblet
full of water of life
evaporating slowly
in each gust you see
thousand pictures
forming solidly
you contemplate
closing your eyes
in front of the steam
while it enters quietly
to fill the soul anew
and let you feel again.

In the dim darkness
you sit agains a tree
feeling how love is dripping
like a melting icicle
in the first sun if spring.

Down the heart
the honey kissed drops
slide in softness
leaving a mark
of their carved path
deeply in every vessel.

Meeting each other
crawling under the skin
forming a dense web
of darkness and light
mingled, entwined in one.

You sit agains a tree
in the dim darkness
feeling the honey kissed
tender drops of love
slide down your eyes
dropping on the sweet
quietness of night.

The rawness of music
startles the soul, fading,
magnifying the tones
until you hear the silence
of the entire halted world.

When the flames come
they gulp the essence
the universe plays its melody
and you burn with no ashes
the colours change swiftly.

Dew covers the flowerbed
the moon awaits patiently
until the sun sets a living flame
to the doomed human heart
who owns the ragged throne.

In flames is something in the soul
eating its way through the heart
cracking pieces from the whole
you cut it out from bleeding parts.

Night falls on clear cut ground
darkness is fading at the flames
at the distant melting soft sound
and darkness, the heart it frames.

You reach your hand above it
and walk on the lightened path
where every inch now glows lit
and wind calms the world's wrath.

The calm of the rain
the smell of the laved air
the cellos sublime hue
mingle in the conscious.

The summer ends quietly
spreading its blanket
on top of flowers and birds
little crystals of evening.

Steps of autumn echo
in the distant aisle of trees
the leaves smile falling
changing their suit
into the colours of a rainbow.

Vivaldi performs gloriously
as the world spins sublimely
giving the nature its stance
the deep harmony of universe
the calm of the rain and heart.

Honey flows
down your arms
closing the eyes
you feel the softness
you taste the sweetness
you live the deepness.

You rise your arms
the honey flows
falling with the stars
the honey glows.

Along with the music
you dance in the space
your existence is elusive
but your heart is the grace.

You grab the meaning
of the dearest words
smashing them dingily
onto the cold ground.

Saying them before
eagerly so many times
until you only hear
a vague distant echo
of your own mind
speaking vaguely to you.

On a monotonous repeat
fast forward too many times
while you are not able
to count, as the words
have lost their meaning.

Their sense, essence, nuance.
The words become naked
not being aware anymore
where they left their beauty.

And where they belong
in the human made world.

You look down
in the water's eyes
and in the bottom
of the sea
you see
finally clearly
what you couldn't
see.

Your deepness
Your heart
Your vulnerability
Your evanescence.

I talked to the trees today,
they listened
I talked to the moon today,
it cried
I talked to the stars today,
they smiled
I talked to the sea today,
it consoled
I talked to the flowers today,
they grew
I talked to you today
and you were silent.

A gravel is sharp and pain
piercing holes in the air
and same as a human in reign
with knives and crown in hair.

Against the wall try to lean
a hand to understand the fear
for you life is to live and read
while the time is there to bear.