13 poems from my second poetry collection titled ‘’a-synchronicity’’ translated into English by me.

1. Secret

The seconds beat on the clock / I look at you / You said something (a secret) / The broken pencil sticks to the consonants / I expect to express all lack / To fill all the empty points with a few sparks of meaning / I recall your words – the trembling secret / And here you are, unveiled and made a little vulnerable / and recognizable amidst the chaos that surrounds my spontaneous silence/

And life avenges the trauma that defines us with violence / as marginal subjects / It lashes out and fights back / It battles and erupts like a crater boiling / from the earth’s guts/

I want to return to the beginning / to the counting of time / but there’s something pushing me to sink / to the senseless here / And thus I question the meaning / or I create a new secret.

2. For the Girl

Ophelia,

You were full of anticipation and passion.

You were for me the first time

I saw myself reflected in a myth.

Full of anticipation and passion.

Full of green and grey.

Full of emotion and chaos.

Ophelia,

You desired the pain invoked from memory by a Man

and you went mad.

Ophelia,

Ι forget you as I grow older,

but some nights I see you when I close my eyes

and I remember your words,

the trembling of your voice on stage.

Ophelia,

your body sprouted in the fresh water

and your anger dried up,

they embalmed you with colours.

Ophelia,

Feel the pain, Be untamed, Lose yourself!

(The woman’s form is blurry but her glance is clear

Her hands, full of wrinkles, cover her pale face).

3. winning

I buy cigarettes from the kiosk near my house.

twice a year

just so I can destroy a bit more my vital organs

and feel closer to the end

the end that I both desired and feared

I already count three times when I rejected life

when I let myself drown in desperation

all three of them I wimped out and called my parents

after that they sterilized me as if I carried an infectious disease

one of the many psychiatrists I’ve had over the years

once told me that the truth is that I don’t want to die

I want my life to change

but how does one change their life?

how does one deconstruct the universe they have come to know so well,

the world where she exists among other creatures?

the truth is, I’ve only achieved this theoretically

and this theory is addressed to everyone else

but remains a distant destination for me

my world is still the same as when I was a child

the same pain, the same torturous whims of those who care for me,

the same self-destructive patterns in different versions,

the same lies that I repeat to myself

like a choir that sings the same song every year at Christmas.

‘‘you’ve been blessed with so much’’, ‘‘you’re happy!’’

and yet I live in lack

even if I forget it for a while

when I swallow the toxic cigarette smoke

4. A Body Unfolding

The feeling of your dark hair touching my stiff thighs

as your strong tongue hugs my swollen labia,

marks the moment of my escape.

There, on the tousled pink sheets of your warm bed-

our secret shelter-place,

wet, dishevelled and ecstatic,

among heavy tears and stifled moans,

revelling in our heightened horniness,

I plot with the night my great exodus from materiality.

5. Folded Sheets

Skin in motion. Shivers.

Red cheeks, eyes a gloomy purple.

I know you’ll say goodbye after today.

The desiring multiplicity of your world

and the bizarre singularity of my feelings

gave life to the creature we called ‘‘our relationship’’

and now we deconstruct it like a closed ideological system,

like a theory of Power.

I know you’ll leave tomorrow,

and your taste will stay on my teeth.

6. Chasm

Dogs gather in front of the concentration camp

and bark at the guards.

I wonder if they are allies

or lost strays looking for food.

When the animals speak, I try to translate the message.

But sometimes I project onto them my own wishful thinking,

recreating the ontological chasm between us

and I recall all those painful conversations with you.

When you talked, I would always lapse into projections.

7. Still

I demanded to feel your lips

on my small face’s thin skin.

I asked you to touch me and then hit me.

I shocked you; you thought it extreme and strange,

as extreme and strange as my yearning for you.

I wanted everything, you chose nothing.

I locked my feelings in a rusty cell

so that you would no longer see them

and I’m still waiting for your illusion.

8. Escape

A truth that shapes desire.

Our bodies reverberating.

The chasm, the closeness.

Together, apart.

A thorn lost in your flesh.

Futile gasping, screams.

The need for more.

I want everything. With you.

Holding, breathing you in.

Releasing the dream.

9. Scars

There’s no space for logic

In our room.

Everything is a combination

Of affects and sensation.

The materiality of naked skin

and the immateriality of hidden feelings

that materialize as scars upon

the naked skin,

scars we inflict voluntarily

like random drawings on hard paper.

10. Climbing

Revenge for the forgotten past, a moment of the future

we desired.

And rage is drowning in the wake of our pleasure.

It runs in circles, then hides in our stomachs-

we guard it there until we vomit.

My hands walk around the edges of my feet,

looking for my beginning-

In vain. I’m all one, unique and ephemeral,

whole in the eyes, cut in the ears,

microorganisms, acids, tumours,

stomach full of rage and death.

A crack leading to the unknown.

Remember the shadows on the cave’s walls.

11. Myrrh

I sacrifice her tears

for a few drops of pain.

Death’s blue wing

now costs too much.

Τhe yellow colours of spring are absent

and the dragon’s heart

beats nostalgically.

12. Shackles

Silver summers pass

like roller coasters and drown the invisible chasm

in their belly.

The stain in the yellow apron stinks of rage and years

piled up on the shadow’s hump. The geranium

cries in the winter and forgets the meadow

and the light that moves through the grass.

13. Circle

I’m waiting for the return-

the repetition, the rehabilitation.

Futility and oblivion,

the echo of loss.

I’m leaving again.

The sea is swelling as it takes me-

as it swallows me.

I become a skein

and I return to this place.

In the land of remembrance,

in the land of forgetfulness,

at the cliff’s edge.

I touch the bloody fruit.

Red tongues drown the lamentation.

I lose my way in the forest of eucalypti.

Wide leaves cover me

and the wind uncovers me, revealing the lie.

Under the mask

the wrinkles are trembling.

Under the veil

the white hair is breaking.

The meaning runs in circles.

I’m leaving again.