Cyclamen
With the first sliver of sunlight, cyclamen unfolds petals in the rock’s schism, the breeze chants a hymn before the virgin light, and the bluish window, like the verse of a faint poem, observes the dawn as I courageously try to balance life after your death
—Get up to gather the leaves of the big oak. They won’t go into the recycling bag on their own
Rose in the vase leans like a star on the right crest of the sky, the lock of the door remembers of all the little songs it has locked outside, and I pray to His majesty to bring you back to me
—If you need three recycling bags, I have more in the storage room
Closer to my retina, I discover a tear that will flow like a ripened fruit, rebellious molecules dancing in a frenetic mode as if to redefine Terpsichore’s flow, the brownish finch discovers our birdfeeder and takes control of his hunger
— Tell me what is on your mind, and you ignore me today?
The colourful dawn paints idols and symbols onto my retinas, and I can almost hear your footsteps, my beloved, echoing on the gleaming floor of the terrace, reminding me of the need to have you
— You don’t care whether I talk to you or not, do you?
Manolis Aligizakis 