Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
Robert  Frost  



τω αγνώστω θεώ

              
κάποια βράδια  που όλα ησυχάζουν/
και  /σαστισμένοι οι νικητές της νύχτας
γέρνουν και  κλείνουν  για λίγο /τα μάτια
ακούω το αίμα να χτυπά ρυθμικά /στο κορμί μου
κάποιες στιγμές / και δεν είναι λίγες κι αυτές
στην βουή μιας αδιάφορης  μέρας/
νάτο  και πάλι/ το αίμα/ να κοχλάζει αργά/
είναι οι ώρες που εισβάλεις στο μυαλό  /
ή/ το μυαλό μου σε φέρνει εικόνα
κι αυτό  / μαγεμένο/
από την σκοτεινιά  των ματιών σου/


©Μαρία Πανούτσου
Αδημοσίευτο

The chill of winter bites into the skin
And the valley sleeps in muffled din
In the freezing blustery winter night
The shivering trees stay huddled and tight

Stars have lined up in the sky
With cotton clouds swiftly sailing by
The moon light seeping through the veil
Makes the foliage glisten in the dale

Sharp noises sounding eerie
Leave the valley a place so scary
These sounds parley in a tongue unknown
Of gory tales, to none ever known

Did some cannibal tribe once congregate
In this nether territory to live segregate
What midnight revels had they held
No one knows and history remains cold

Now, here amid thickets and thorny shrubs
Where darkness, like a Fiend proudly struts
And in leaf fringed corners and crevices wide
Serpents coil with poisonous fangs in hide
    
Look, the sly fox walking stealthily away
After feeding greedily on his hapless prey,
Through the ravine and down the furrow
How he sneaks into his covert burrow

The glassy brook that mirrored the skies
Now in dark, under a thick blanket lies
But the water rushing through pebbles and rocks
With sonorous music, the nightly calm breaks

Among the branches of towering trees
Birds have perched and roost in peace
Little birdies with downy feathers
Cuddle under their mothers splayed wings

From far off woods comes a shrieking howl
As frightening as the hoots of a night owl
Wind, rushing through needle pines
Sounds like a child when he, in pain whines

Now the valley sleeps in muffled din
Until the Sun for his daily ritual parades in
In day light this valley would be up and awake
And life for sure will a renewed turn take

Texting is a form of Inception
Trying to place ideas in the others mind
To make the odds in your favor

I wish people would be pure like snow
And would be melted with warmness
And would become a moment creator like water
And would go against any block like overflow


Poet: Pezhman Mosleh

Even after you've made it very clear where we stand,I keep hoping you'll come back and tell me you realise what a fool you were to let me go.

I'm still waiting.

it was winter when i wrote you ;
crags, rocks, trees, were all black
on white and ice --

ice,
it beat on my door --
slivered on the mattress,
sheets of it --
a bedfellow, willing,
eager.

when did the scorpion bring
warm coals to temper the night?
the howl of the moon,
the scorch of the sun --

inside was fire, gurgling.
it was froth and magma.

i heard the tempest, both sea and sky --

faith,
they called
it a rock.
a deep,
black,
rock


in ice.

Universal law of chaos is our wicked deeds