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.