Sin
You asked whether it was right
perhaps a sin, you said,
that you and I have met
in an uncharted plain
in undefinable time
in the certainty of the void
and I smiled saying
I would prefer Hell
when I would be reborn
to choose again
the same path of joy
and pleasure with which
your beautiful body
satisfies me
Wandering Adolescence
In the game of wandering, man
came to get to know the time
he plays and gets contradicted
the truth is shattered
something impassable escapes in the flow
of eternity’s quantum
races are unmapped colonies
the passing of time leaves them
in the decay of distance.
The body that commenced with the youth
always looks at the same moon
as you near, the water change route
no one knows where they are headed
as if we step backward.
Each season has its ego
each season is but a shipwreck
in shallow waters
the descendants of the sea and
of the sorrow of empty roads
betrayed by their subterranean cells
look behind
as the dust whirls
and in front of them the ghostly light
full of inventions floats like
the mythical echo of the miracle.
excerpt
…most were ordinary-looking housewives of the gossip circle,
and of course, a few were the ones usually found in the aristocratic
bars and lounges, ladies with housemaids and black chauffeurs, with
small bedroom dogs and a gigolo on the side. Hermes always looked
down on the so-called upper class; a degrading and pathetic life, he
thought they were like snakes. Those people had all the money they
needed, with their luxurious cars and drug addictions or similar
kinds of crap, and they blindly followed whatever is “modern,” a certain
mania to do as the foreigners did, just to be part of the trend.
According to Hermes, this way of living did nothing to
improve a person’s life. He didn’t belong to the idealists and skeptics,
either, who ignored reality and lived in the clouds of their isolation
with the hope that the world would change on its own volition on
some fine morning and everything would just be splendid. What he
wanted was a major change in society, a change that would make the
commoners’ lives better and the upper class more decent and more
confident people.
What else he wanted to help achieve was to unhook the populace
from the iron fist of the church that had grasped the people’s
lives and orchestrated their comings and goings according to the
dogma of an eastern religion that forbids them from letting go and
adopting a freer mindset, Hermes believed was the inherited treasure
of the Hellenes.
That was the psycho-spiritual hold the church had over the lives
of people, which exerted such power that no one ever had stood opposite
to, from the days of their liberation from the Turks, beginning
of the 19th century. However, how that could be possible and which
method could be applied to get the desired outcome was unknown to
Hermes. Yet he hoped that that would appear to him at some time in
the future. A smile came to his face as if he had already been affected
by such a change.
He walked as he disembarked the ship. His uncle, Demetre,
was among the others on the dock, lordly as always, waving his hand.
Hermes beamed a big smile and walked to him.
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Lyra
Winds sharpen their teeth
onto the willingness of fruit
with their red lips
like next day’s dawn
boys raise their arms high up
to the rosy contour of the moon’s breast
Thoughts
You wished you had accompanied her
You wished she hadn’t gone
loneliness turns
into muffled jubilation
Perhaps better this way
You have no one to report to
No one to come home to
Others, you must find
on your path
You wished you didn’t have
to go through this
junction
of your life, yet
This is a lesson for you
And for your departed lover
Only the Matter
I take something and place it somewhere else.
I don’t know why perhaps I don’t like something;
seconds later the cloth; then the paper
which screams a whisper
when its position is changed.
Does this imperceptible sound
perhaps expresses discomfort
or relief for this new relation
of the soulless to infinity?
or perhaps the subject longs
for its old place?
A small imperceptible movement
a glance, a spark of light
and look, the internal-self springs out
and moves freely
in the abstract now.
Then something as an erotic murmur is heard
or a little whining of an unfed dog.
matter will act as such, I say
before my own silence
takes control of me.
excerpt
and people had already found their shelter and the forgetful
ones or late sauntering souls were drenched in a matter of minutes
when exposed to the elements. Rain fell in wide bands
occasionally very strong as if wanting to cleanse all sins from
the souls of sinful men or as if to purify all guilt some people
carried in their hearts such was the duty of rain this November
evening.
While the tempest raged outside the walls of the mausoleum,
the children had had their evening meals; George the
Cretan cook had prepared bean soup for them merely enough
to fill their small stomachs. Marcus as always made sure he was
put on kitchen duty, his teachers hadn’t yet smelled his scheme,
and soon after all other children left for their sleeping quarters
Marcus went to the kitchen where his evening boss, George,
allotted to him tonight’s duty: to scape clean two big cauldrons
which were used for the soup.
The youth, having a perpetual smile on his face, one would
say he had planned this kitchen duty, stood by the sink and leaning
over the huge vessel he started to scrape and clean which he
did bit by bit and stroke after stroke while George supervised
making sure the vessel would be spotless for next day’s use. And
it came to be, spotless as the supervisor would want it and as
Marcus the Indian youth who had a good sense of commitment
knew which resulted in him being worthy of his reward: an extra
bowlful of bean soup, a slice of bread and a small piece of apple
pie. The youth was sitting at his regular kitchen table meant for
the cooks and their helpers and relished his reward up to the
last morsel; George was observing the youth who was enjoying
his pie. Yet he sensed the heaviness weighing on his heart and
reflecting in his eyes.
“What is it, Marcus? What’s bothering you?”
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Stop searching for the sea and the waves’ fleece
by pushing caiques
under the sky we are the fishes and the trees
and the seaweed.
IV
Logos is residing far from the
headmaster’s reasoning.
The untouched Kore smiles at
the breeze when the corn stalk
stands firm and blushes while the poet
throws his diaphanous love
to the four corners of the earth
identifying his brightest future.
Ecclesia’s leader dresses his thoughts
with heavenly perfumes and incenses
myriad names and terms for the
immovable turned into a commodity.
Ape’s mind is always up to a new task
and with appropriate fanfare
with all required zeal replaces
the ancient priestess with a new male
code of conduct and the free-spirited
became the slave of a malicious
system using methods always
decreed by the modern shaman.
Manolis Aligizakis 