The fire's silk immersed blaze
crackles quietly amid the dark
deeply in the night-set haze
lights a distant frailing spark.

As the time howls in haste
running ahead of its own course
there are no words to waste
on the paper of heart's remorse.

The hands of the wind conjure
your notion of life's whole
as you sit by the blaze to ponder
while time's eyes riddle your soul.

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.

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.

You can get your way
by talking through it
you can get your way
by having a wit.

You reason your stance
and hoping the best
as you know that you can't
make people impressed.

Things are never achieved
by argument and force
as some might believe
but never win the course.

The reason in your way
is the only helping hand
which helps you to pay
the value of your stand.

Those crystal eyes in my face,
When the True Light hits my mind,
I write in those whispers of night,
I pour my soul in the empty paper.
Then I do colour the paper in red;
The poems I write will be red, my dear,
As the last drip of my glowing blood,
Will be shed down amidst my 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.

As the river flows
never stopping its way
its calming quiet mutter
its hasty vicious pace
its unexpected turns
and crystal clear reflection
full of living fresh energy
always passing anew.
So does life. Always flows
passing anew in the dawn dew
in its hasty pace at vicious race.

Sailing in my thoughts
            Like a ship in the ocean
Swaying up and down
               On the poetical waves.

Thoughts are the waves
                     Poetic and creative
Painful and joyous
                        Stormy and calm.

They hit unexpected
             Leaving a mark behind
Like love leaves a scar
           Thoughts leave a notion.

Poets are in need of them
         The ideas of stormy waves
Their mind is able to create
         After a thriving earthquake
Which brings about the storm
                       In the creative days.

The deepest philosophy
Is your autobiography.
It is written in calligraphy
And captured in photography.

What is your ideology
Is all your psychology
Stored subconciously
Creating your biology.

Distant persisting fragments
endure unstirring in your heart
you pick them away piece by piece
yet every part is the same sharp
as as frosty wind on your cheeks.

You take a step
to eternity.
I take seven steps
to reach your soul.
The seventh one
I fall
down your heart
into the depth
of your inner black hole.

Am I ever coming out?
Being never
the same
or in the same place
anymore.
Swallowed up
by the number of stars.
Seven stars.
Seven times.
Seventh is your love.

The moon is up, a mystery begins
And a nightingale spreads out his wings.
The ashen light
From the moon so bright
And darkened shadows
In the forest they gather.
The silhouettes are seen
But yet so concealed.
Sounds, so vague
Though they are not the same
As in a day.
The illuminated squares
Of the magic forest, shares
The wild beauty, yet so invisible.
You feel the dream of paradise;
The fragrance of the unfurled blossoms
And the sight of dispersed light,
Becoming unbeliavebly visible.
...why! It's just an illusion of perfection,
Showing up its starlight reflection.

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.

He takes the brush
full of endless wonders
never runs out of
stories to ignite aflame.

Yet every day he seems
to fall into deep thought
in some other world
where beauty excists
inside a brittle crystal.

The brush, shattering it
to design carefully another
wondrous form of art.

Painter, draws the life
while the composer plays
music for the silky soul.

Poet, writes the lines
of eternal exsistence
while the dancer gives
heart for the movement
Of life.

The slenderness of the delicate letters
The softness of the deep-meaning words
Painted on a snow white paper.
The Silver Poet sits under the dim light
Of the mystic star-knitted universe.

Closing the eyes he feels a crystal tear
Rolling down like a raindrop on the glass
Falling into eternity, dropping on the snowy paper.
The Silver Poet is shivering but has no fear.

The words he limns flow like a pure river
Down the mountain slopes leaving its path
An everlasting mark which will never vanish
The poem comes alive when the Silver Poet breathes.

He takes out his Golden Heart to accomplish the poem
And gives his wondrous soul for the sake of the rhythm.

The poem is ready to become another bright star
Knitted carefully around the Silver Poet's Golden Heart.

Under thousand looming stars
Stamped in the night black sky
Where all the opputunities fly.

On the cold dew-covered ground
Standing under the star dust blanket
I realise my own insignificance.

Here, where kings and queens govern
Everything seems too substantial
Even your own image is so ambigous.

Complexity of life is beautiful as nature
The soul and heart of humans, fair
Or demonish and guileful, evil and sly

What guides your soul must be just
Like the universe in its brilliant grandeur
Simple love as the first step to generosity.

Like a snowflake in a micro-planet
flying around in the vast universe
fading away, melting for eternity.
Small breaths carry your memories
fall of tears slide down the cheek
as the raindrops on your window
pouring out the life from your chest.
The little snowflake had a beauty,
meaning on its own, truth in the core,
hidden and observed, as life knows
how brittle and precious is every breath.

In the darkest nights
where stars are blooming
you whisper into the wind
words that fly like seeds
travelling distances afar
and finding their bed
among the soft earth
or my soul's strings.

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.

The sweet tunes of the soul bells
Echo in the depth of eternity
Composing a divne symphony.

Light and darkness, hand in hand
Fight and subside on the quiet land.

Things I haven't told, maybe never will
Reside and smolder, in heart fulfilled.

The sweet tunes of your soul bells
They save you and bring you out of the hell.

How, merely small
and insignificant
is the speck of life
under the endless
power and energy
of the dark universe.

How, merely huge
and substantial
we make the speck
among the billions
of arising galaxies
we know nothing of.

Shine through the glass
Like shines the wobbly sunray
It can penetrate the mirror
In an easy way.
Form the magic spectrum
Of those visible colours
Like forms the clear diamond
When sun has kissed
Its sides with honour.
Fall down like a tender snowflake
So that your Lover
Can catch you and hold
But stay, do not melt away, do not fade
So you do not regret the beautiful dream
Once you are awake.

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.

The waves talk to me
In the silky soft words
I feel you coming, your steps
Yet I see only footprints
And they do dissapear, soon.

The waves whisper to me
In the secret language
Of Latin or maybe Greek?
I can only make the difference
Between the words you tell me
Or make no difference at all.

The waves whisper
And you are gone.

La roche qui s'attable à l'ombre
Dans le calme, dans la solitude,
Je m'imagine moi-même, pour un instant
Sur la roche qui s'appelle la solitude.

Cette roche, entouré de trois arbres,
Qui se balancent gracieusement
Comme ils juste regardent
En voudraient d'offrir de la companie,
Pour moi et pour cette roche.
Qui ne peut jamais offrir
Ni de l'amour ni de l'affection.

Juste une place,
Pour s'asseoir.

Mais ça suffit pour moi,
À l'ombre,
Une place sur cette roche,
Pour faire de la poésie
Avec plus de fantasie.

Whopping blue sky
Rises above my eyes
Something nostalgic
Pervades my mind

The Yellow Eye observes
And gives light in that blue
Ocean with air for its water
And flimsy clouds for its foam

Swallows one by one
Trigger through the air
Plunge into the clouds
Come out to follow the
Track to their tiny prey

So lovely are those swallows for me
The special birds with magic in the heart.

Love is some kind of a sweet escape
Who steals a piece out of your heart
And gives it back in another shape
Which does not match the initial part

Love is some kind of a Greek goddess
Who comes on earth to please you
But leaves you no more and no less
Than a punishment to go through

Love is some kind of a tender butterfly
Always beautiful to behold and catch
But hard to keep it from flying away
Or easy to **** it with a flaming match

Love is the sweet escape from yourself
But nobody knows what love is itself

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.

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.

I have to build a bridge
To reach from my heart
To yours.
But I'm not an engineer
Neither I'm an architect
That does not mean
I cannot do that.
Because I can build a bridge
As I have love
And I have power
And this bridge will never corrode
Neither it will never tremble
As love is greater
Than all the projects ever born.

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

On a secret starry night
I was glad to be by myself
Just like walking on glass
I marched under the starlight
The pieces were beaming
Under my feet, and tinkling
To open my eyes under the sky
I saw the stars were falling
The pieces of glass were the stars
Where I could see my reflection
And glance into my soul to tell
I am made of these elements
Which are out there, so far
But yet they are so close
That I can feel them moving
In the life which has ignited in me
I realise- that is what the stars will show.

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.

What is it we are searching for?
Being in a constant conversation
With our deepest thoughts.
Even though it is a monologue
With no answers provided.

Do you know the truth?
Me neither,
I do not.

You know your heart has eyes
But your heart's eyes stay closed
If you refuse to open them
That is the heart what nature has created
To keep us alive
But also to posses that treasure
What our bare mind can't.

You can see the beauty
Yet the most beautiful
And the most important
Is still invisible.

You cannot see true love
Nor true happiness
But feel them.
Feel them travelling
Through your blood vessels
Passing into every cell
They come across.

Those things were created invisible
And they are meant to stay this way
Those which are the most important
That our bare eye cannot behold.
They teach us to see further
To see deeper.

The nature can create beautiful things
But it likes to hide the most beautiful of all.
Nature calls us to find those
Yet the finding can be hard.

If you can finally see the deepest beauty
The deepest of all
It shows you are finally removed
That shadow in front of your eyes.
Now that you have clear sight
You can tell me
What is really the beauty for you.

Isn't it the one which was so long invisible?
Isn't it the one which was hidden behind the blind?

Yet it is still invisible
And still hidden.
But you found it.

Wasn't it that you were always used to
Look at the facade?
And had not yet clear vision
How to enter behind?
You had no hope nor faith
Because you believed in that beauty
What nature had created
But not in what she had hidden.

Yet the hidden one must one see
As it is the eternal and live for thee.

I have a script painted in my heart
With black ink and gothic style
It is a passionate, fine art
Written with thoughts, so worthwhile.

It took me a while to wonder
And still it grasps every day
To think and linger
Between the life's eternity
In its mysterious way.

Every day there is something
To add more to the script
Every day is an art
Of living and surviving
In the depth.

All the time I take the pen
And practice the gothic font
It is a fine art, I am passionate
I do not let the ink to stain.

There is still so much to obtain.
Do not let the ink to stain.

The paradoxical thoughts
Which slip through my mind
Occasionally when I sit
Behind my table and look
At the words scribbled on the paper.
The words which do not
Make sense anymore
The words which drain my soul
The words which make me feel
Like I am a black hole
Amidst the gigantic universe.
These are the apothegem of Love
Which I wrote on the paper
Just to burn them again in the stove
And burn the memories of you
As if it was ever possible.

Blowing away from the distance
Gathering everything on its way
The living should stop and bliss that
For a second before death of the day.

If you feel the touch of the wind
Gently and tenderly moving your hair
It is like to stumble, to fly blind
To cry and pray and fiercely tear.

The touch of the wind can be godly
The touch of the wind can be rough
But it is never meant to be deadly
It is just meaningful for the life is tough.

Tenderness of the steps
A night fairy walks on.
In the garden of starlight.
One bold tree grows, alone.

The night breeze is shaking
The branches, so fragile,
Though firm enough for taking
The burden of life's petal.

The fairy's shadow is casting
The beautiful moments in all
Unsure of how long is lasting
The shimmering hope's crystal.

Nature's wings are unforeseen
And yet the roots hold tight
No wind no storm no spleen
Would dispel the tree's light.

I used to walk on the dreamy sand
Waiting for the blue ship to land
Confessions to myself, echoed back
From the night sea, a tremulant black

I gathered the foam, so lively, passionate
The red star observed me, was I fortunate
Night, spreading its arms, hugging the sun
For the last time, before everything is redone

Walking on a long smooth road
in daylight, with a mirror in my hand
stretched in front of my dreamy eyes
only backwards I see, but walk ahead.

Days and days, I go on walking
with a mirror in my hands, holding
sometimes closer and mostly far
Observing the details behind.

Closing the eyes, I turn around
and start walking back again
pacing to the past, future behind me
I realise, only the moment is the reality.

Sometimes it is hard
To understand a poet
The depth of his soul
To his heart.
The attempt to impel the thoughts
To take the form of the letters
Melting into words for lines
Which he can paint on the paper
And try to make sense
Of his smoldering feelings
Which are too complex
Even for his sophisticated nature
To make them intelligible.
Sometimes you have to decipher
The code of the hidden sensations
And liberate the poet to understand.

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.

Confide in someone,
pour your heart
has so much power
as you are given
the honor to hold
somebody's soul
in your arms.

Trust is fragile
Trust is made from the finest glass
Crocheted from the Ice Flowers
Pieced together with hundred hours.

Trust is tender
Trust has the wings of a butterfly
Blessed with the heart of a hummingbird
Invisibly, with delicacy, Trust is dispersed.

When Trust shatters
The sharp pieces stream together in your heart
As it will take hundred more hours
To find every fragment, yet hundred more days
To make up the Ice Flower with hardest ways.

It is snowing in the heart
and the fireplace is burning
to keep the warmth within
the snow and wind intertwine
dancing along the road of pain.

It is spring in the heart
drops of water melting along
sliding and streaming down
awakening flowers to bloom
giving life for new beginnings.

It is sunny in the heart
summer embraces the world
contemplating deeply ahead
collecting the harvest of hope
creating new paths to discover.

It is autumn in the heart
the colours shimmer passim
the peace has come in secret
balancing the cold and warm
as life withers and sprouts again.