The racking dawn

lurking in the darkness

lurking darkness

The snow is innocent and soft and your memory hooked on your heavy pace,
the wind is whipping snowflakes on your chicks imprinting lipstick traces on your face.

Your dark brown hair is pulled like a tattered spool trapped in the nails of some nasty kitty,
the echoes of your cacophonous cries are musing the whole city.

Hanging wires are dancing like playful garlands in a kid’s eyes,
colour-blind paper war swirls around whispering your lies.

Fearless female hands tie two ropes with a mystery knot,
stone chimneys are distilling the disobedient smoke of your secret thought.

Sparrows are haunting the backyard tasting the velvet mould of its tender woods,
abandoned thoughts and rubbish smells are glowing under their dark roots.

The tremor of the pale light is rapping the naked trees,
the dawn is waiting numb out of your window on her knees.

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To some place I know

buried_city.jpg

buried city

Rubbish bags all ripped off, concrete walls with dark signs on, the sound of a beer can crushed inside the palm of the punkie teenager, idle footsteps of some hectic neighbourhood stranger. A motorbike parks itself in some dusty city slum, weak streaks of moonlight unlock one of its many paths. It always felt unusual but nice.

You were there again.

Wandering around the small turns of this urban labyrinth, charmed by the echoes of an unfound mystery rhythm. As an urban flâneur, your only guide is your feeling, your only way in and out is your nerve. It provokes and inspires, it is a glorious metropolis in decay.

The sunlight sets fire on your path. You get to see them again, wandering lost and found at the same places, beggars of their own destiny. They stink, they shout, they are crazy they say but you so much want to touch them, they are all so real and safe.

But you keep walking never daring to turn your head to their side, this appalling guilt that scratches your golden inside. You keep walking, sweaty worked out hands give you warm bread, old man with beard spits on your name.

You keep walking.

Old ladies, two of them uncoil their morals in a morning chat, you hear a couple of words or one. There is sun, so much sun.. you need sunglasses, they are your only protection against the spasm of the public realm. Warm grey sunshine, untuned mind.

Meat choppers tik takking and you weigh your lies. Hostile looks and trembling hands, the sound of your coins will nourish his heart. Lost fights with life, headless statues on time. Up and down, shaking hands, exchange is done.

Nighmarish parade of some gypsy kids with chaotic smiles, this city is lost in an accordion’s sound. Insignificant melodies of a young little man, swallowed by the charm of this beautiful smile. Sprayed on the surface of some debris in the street, it demarcates the beyond and the within.

Your heart is squeezing and your inside is freezing, this lava fills you up, your mind is about to crack, stark naked as a tyranny it messes up with your wounds while promising a therapy to all those she could.

Look long enough to see, it is an abyss, a lie, a beauty, a we . It is Athens.