Προσωρινοί

People are like clouds

they scatter away 

from wind's first breath

or they become frostbites

like handcuffs to your heart

or worst 

they gather together 

to support an angry sky

And drop dead onto your lap

One way or another 

Flakes or drops

always gets dry or withered

under time's relentless wings

You see...
eternity always wins the game

And it doesn't matter
whether you were a cloud or a rain

Passers both of them

II

There is a justice to the dirt

it confirms the mortality 

of the 'godish' complex

it also reassures the earth

of the flesh's vanity

Even the heart turns to dust
~ the heart that you kept your secret gardens ~

proving nature's revenge 

against human’s temporary feelings

Blood is just a future-dry well, my love

and nothing not even our dreams

will survive the infinitive's rage 

III

Life is like a naked graveyard

under death another life grows and expands

Always replacing the dead leaves 

with similar ones
~ similar not the same
but no one notices the difference ~
So, my love,

What’s the point to cut a fresh flower

when you already have yesterday’s death
to decorate your windows?

IV
I, slowly, come in terms
with what they call "finality"
I don't know if the word is correct
but I do know that time is measured
by what is broken

You can never un-done
the cup's fragmentation
it's against physic laws

but sometimes, yes sometimes,
I can't stop thinking of rewind
Imaging the cup whole again...

when I' ll stop then I will comprehend
the meaning of their word

V

I think it always have been
this specific time of the year
that I watched the butterflies
spread their wonderful wings
and the spiders finishing 
their unique web trap 
I always felt sorry for them
The spiders, I mean
It is not easy to kill 
the beauty and be proud of it

but I think that every now and then
we all change roles
Sometimes we are butterflies
and once in a while we are spiders

with the same result, mind you

If you are a spider
someone, someday 
will cut thru your heart's silky web

if you are butterfly
someone, someday
will rip your wings out
of your  fragile shoulders

So, my love, 
there is no difference to the role
you choose every season to play
even if you wished for it ...

VI

it seems that time and I
have a rendezvous 
every now and then 
It troubles me to think
the hours between the events
like a caterpillar waiting 
fot its glory tranformation

what is it think while it awaits?

like a telescope that brings your sight,
~ yes sir, thats the modern world ~
 near the sky
well, I hate to dissapoint you, love,
but that 'near' destroys it all
 And in this point to our misery story
between 'happening' comes the moth
a sleepy creature or an active mind?

Επίλογος

ξέρω πως ξαφνικά επικαλούμεθα
την οποιαδήποτε γλώσσα μαθαίναμε
ως μικρές κάμπιες
σαν να θέλουμε να δείξουμε 
στις υπόλοιπες κάμπιες
την δική μας μεταμόρφωση...

Η ουσία είναι ότι σε όποια γλώσσα
κι αν το κουκούλι σου χτίσεις 
Η ζωή δεν είναι τίποτα άλλο 
παρά ένα γυμνό νεκροταφείο
Για όποιο σημείο της πυκνά κατοικείται
υπάρχουν οι κάμπιες
Φροντίζουν
την εκκένωση του χώρου από τα παλιά

Βλέπεις, αγάπη μου, 
κάτω από την νεκρή ζωή
υπάρχει μια άλλη φωνακλού
που εξαπλώνεται και κυριαρχεί
πάνω σου, μέσα σου, δίπλα σου...

είτε έχεις σπάσει την κούπα
είτε την κοιτάς συνεπαρμένος
από την αντοχή της 


Maria Rodopoulou