Welcome! This space houses English translations of selected poems. The majority of my poetry is written and published in Greek, my native language and primary creative medium.
For a fuller experience of my work, including recent publications, ongoing projects, and regular poetic musings, please visit my Facebook and Instagram. There you'll find not only published pieces but also updates about my literary journey.
Gift of the Bound Prometheus — fire to humankind,
the Golden Fleece — to Aeëtes,
the Trojan Horse — to the Trojans,
the “In this sign, conquer” — to Constantine’s army,
the blue and white flag — to the generations to come,
the institutions, the schools, the boulevards.
(All the gifts we gave — for our own reasons,
all the gifts we received — for our own reasons.)
All gifts, material or not — to strengthen our existence:
the daughter who gives motherhood to the mother,
the human who gives consciousness to life,
the poet who makes waves in language,
the parasite — to the tree,
the tree — to the sun,
the sun — to death,
death — to time.
An endless circle — the world, every gift
is made so that we may include the other
in the vision we have for life.
But has there ever truly been
a gift — for another?
Words
Words are birds.
If you think you can tell them where to go,
you 're mistaken.
Words are stars.
They show you your path,
but they don't allow you to reach them.
Words are borders.
They define what you didn't say.
Words are my country.
Small, incomprehensible, my own.
Cassandra
You 've read the stars in the sky
what they say is plain as fire.
You brought them down, made them voice.
But it turned to dust in your throat.
How can you convince others
of something their livelihood depends on?
They 'll lose their honour if they listen to you.
They have no problem changing,
just trouble admitting
they 've lived a life of wrongs.
But more so admitting
that you were right all along.
And you want to exhale the stardust as far as you can,
Send it to those who can still inhale it.
And you want to do everything right.
To be able to save them.
To become the conduit of this world,
with its galactic ivies
and sharp grass blades.
But they 'll kill you if you speak,
if you threaten their entropy.
And you remain unfulfilled,
using your passion to stay alight.
This dust does not disappear,
This dust travels.
This dust turns to ash and fire.
This dust triumphs… in another galaxy.
Memory of the innocent
Time sides with the young.
They can simply wait longer.
Time sides with the old.
They can change more narratives.
Time sides with the innocent.
You had control in everything, apart from my memory.
A memory who broke free
and I could see the future,
when I looked inside you
and saw the transparent world behind.
And I saw love where you saw shame.
And I saw life where you saw death.
And I saw abundance where you saw desert.
And I know exactly what I must do.
If you let me show you.
If you let me help you.
If you let me remind you.
Depth
I dive into my depth
and find your pieces
and those of my neighbours.
All people
seem to have broken in similar spots.
The deeper I go
the more the pieces resemble each other.
I’ll bring you some of mine
and take some of yours.
Maybe to heal
we all need to exchange our fragments.
Here, turn right
I step into the car with you.
A ride to your house, which once was mine.
You’ll give me a tour, tell me about the turns.
Straight, right, right again, behind the endless construction sites.
You’ll tell me about the big thefts, the small politics
and the local perversions.
There, in the foreign land, you don’t know.
There, in the foreign land, you don’t have.
There, in the foreign land, you’re not here.
I’ll speak to you politely, I know – I know.
But you want to drive me out of myself.
Should I tell you that you’re simply here, while I’m everywhere?
