Loneliness
Sorrow was hanging in the air; the leafless branches
behind the railings and you were alone by the window.
The night passed in front of your door; it left like
a beloved woman, a woman that another man
was holding from the waist.
And the moon, like a calm, turned off light bulb
at the turn of the road above the drug store.
Paris
Oh Paris, it was time when I scattered
my dreams in your dark mornings
and now I leave you taking with me
the sorrowful joy that I love you.
The Mediterranean delicate siren
that flows around our ship
with all its frothy lilies
now takes me away from you
but we shall meet again in the future
when light will come carefully to open
my eyes before the gleaming blue day
that helps me live with your memory
and then its islands will charge
Athens, I know, isn’t far behind
and they’ll stand and fight
my sinful love for you, oh Paris,
and they will wish me to forget
how sweetly I gave you my soul
not longing to meet anyone
when I aimlessly saunter in your streets
Gratitude
The sense of gratitude
passing through me slowly
reaches
the forests that root in the wind
days in tomorrow’s train stations
we live in nameless streets
by the riverbanks of every number
the cosmos will forget
all who loved it and
it won’t know the number of stars
each person hides in their heart
forgotten in the old mistakes
all lovers are holy and sinful
Eros is a thirst
for whom will be betrayed
shining moment that suddenly arrives
and vanishes in the whirl of eternity.
And if the road is full of truths
the inexplicable moment is still far away
the dream dives into the void and
writes about chancy destinations
in this version of history
they keep time and light like
a legacy of nothing they inherit
from generation to generation
an untidiness of improvisation
a vigilant attraction.
Outside something like a forged spring
and the forever illusion
of keys that open the wide-open door.
Second Hour
I move my brush toward the eastern field
and the cows stop spinning their tails
splashed in light brown although
worm and eagle earn gratification
in the nimble yawn of nostalgia
of life in Chronos’ pendulum
tender sparrow tackles two seeds
in his beak and retreats to his brother
in the bushes one teardrop in an
irksome afternoon when even chewing
a stick of gum embalms you
with such pleasure you couldn’t
think yourself more lucky
as you breathe fresh air rising
off seashore dusk always
recurring as a faithful friend after
a tough day’s work then starts
the game of cynical Death
evangelizing his fearsome enigma
The dark wind blows
as from the future and undresses
a decaying reality concocted by
hands of the few though the rose
traverses past eyes of the girl
who reflects at the redness of her lips
shrugging her shoulders my loneliness
in the path enmity grasps
thin air and ponders the question
while headmaster cinches the noose
around an apostate’s muscled neck
without concern for mercy
carves emblems and insignia
inked with blood crying out: who cares?
Summary
Those who left early with their glance focused on
the same spot: dead horses, bones, flags, tables, stones,
a lonely tree up on the peak and the immovable oath.
Evening liaisons, pseudonyms on cigarette packages,
the discussion left by the cane fields and the old woman
who yelled: passersby, fools, consumed by secret wounds,
nails, teeth, my little moon, the dream and the chair; take
care of the dead, she said, find a way to live their life. Don’t
fall asleep and forget. History is but a continuance. The man
by the front step reads the incomplete catalogue, the one
with the killed shoulder, who died under the trees. Small
animals gathered by the corner. One lonely boy, enchanted
by the imaginative stars. Ah, the beautiful, I’ll shout, the
brave, ah, the thoughtless. And the old woman under the
stairs, with the big cauldron in the night.
TALE OF THE TEARLESS
A colourful dream started in the imagination
~ Renan
Once upon a time there was a rich man
who had a son. Father and mother loved him;
he went to school; he learned of everything
that existed in the world
~ (Beginning of a gypsy fairy tale)
A fairy tale occupies
the cave of my soul, a
tale that is tough like
lithos with strong words
like lead; a fairy tale
that crashes me
I don’t know anymore, I
don’t remember where I
heard it first or was it I who
experienced it once upon
a time? Yet whether you’re
a stone, roll down to the cave
of my soul loudly and if
you’re made of lead, melt
in the fire of the gypsy.
D
since it was a dark night
and only the stars flickered
I thought of an image
beyond humans.
The vase containing the sea was placed
at the edge of the visible
a few dark, undecorated Christmas trees
stood on the sand silently;
heavenly bodies
screamed and shone
in the freedom of lust.
The air smelled of unfamiliar flowers
and none of the lamps revealed
any true or faulty present.
Ah, yes, I said and pushed my inelegant
sole on the atrophied grass, this the way they were
before the stage of the cloud opened
to the first act, with the first actor
playing the first male role;
this was the way before they decided
to strangle the female babies
before Erasmus replaced our diction
before the first complain was heard
about life on this earth
this was the scene of existence
before the play with many acts commenced.
Condemnation
The beggar’s honest hand
extending despair
inexhaustible signalman
momentary begging sigh
sorrowful chirp of a bird
that clipped its wings
A beggar who stooped
unending fortitude
to raid fate’s slap
that on the cheek he felt
as if replacing
his inglorious life
with the unrealized dream
life denied him
excerpt
Ivan Nikolaevich, the second rate agent. Still, she wanted the director to know that she had been correct in her suspicions.
“Da, da, yes, of course,” nodded the functionary, pawing through his desk drawer searching for something. The man’s an idiot, she thought. This is the quality of worker who stands guard over the country! Saints preserve us, as my old grandmother used to say. Finally, the man produced another form, this one on blue paper. “In order to use the official phone line, you must fill in this form.”
“Phone him now!” Natasha raised her voice in hopes that the supervisor would hear her and look out his door. “I’m not filling in one more form!”
The man’s expression did not change but this time he abandoned the new form, picked up the receiver and asked her for the number. After some dialling, waiting and dialling again, he announced that he could not get through. He replaced the receiver quietly. “The supervisor will attend to your complaint tomorrow,” he told her.
Natasha struggled to control her breathing. “Tomorrow WILL BE TOO LATE. She’s passing through the line now; I can see her from here.” Indeed, Lona had already slipped through the passport control while they had been on the phone. The young man’s face creased in a troubled frown. “Very well, comrade. I will take the name of the tourist and her flight number and pass it on to the customs officials myself.”
Now we’re getting somewhere, Natasha thought. “I’ll go with you,” she said aloud. She took a certain perverse pleasure in being in on the moment of discovery. Of course the poor fool Chopyk would be angry with her…
“I’m sorry, comrade, that will not be possible,” the guard replied. “It is not permitted to pass through that door into the airport again. You must leave by the fire exit.” He gestured at a door on the far side of the room. “It is a regulation. Thank you and good day.”
Natasha drew herself up to her full five feet, four inches, cast one more withering glare at the man, and stalked toward the fire exit and out of the lives of the tour group from Canada.
“Documents, please.” Jennifer watched as Lona, standing in front of her, tensed at the command. She could feel her own apprehensiveness growing as she waited, her toes behind the yellow line. This first barrier marked Passport Control was a preview to the inspection room.
Manolis Aligizakis 