Poem by Kiki Dimoula
VOID
With our sense a slingshot
we slaughter the possibility
of our salvation
the collected experience carries the sin
the past drizzles
the hatred of fleeting inside us
Now the unaccomplished falls upon us
like the tempest
and we bathe in melancholy
as we wake up
to the merciless stress of the need
Manolis Aligizakis 