Μοναχικές γυναίκες...
Ποτάμι είν'η ζωή που τρέχει και χάνεται... Κάθε σταγόνα και στιγμή... Κάθε βάλτος χαμένα όνειρα... Κάθε πέρασμα στη θάλασσα αρχή σε νέα διάσταση... Κάθε βότσαλο και άνθρωπος. Κι εμείς; Εμείς τι είμαστε; Τι κάνουμε; Τι πρέπει να κάνουμε;
Να περάσουμε απέναντι. Ωραία. Πως; Βοήθεια; Τα βότσαλα; Σωστά... Γι'αυτό υπάρχουν. Για να μας βοηθήσουν να διασχίσουμε τα άλλοτε ρηχά άλλοτε βαθιά νερά... Ταίρια, φίλοι, οικογένεια, όλοι μετρούν... 'Ομως... Πρέπει να χρησιμοποιήσουμε όλα όσα βρεθούν στο διάβα μας; Αν ήδη πατάς σε ένα, δεν χρειάζεσαι και δεύτερο... Κι αν ακόμη δεν πατάς σε κανένα, μα δεν υπάρχει τριγύρω βότσαλο που να σε βοηθά, κολύμπα! Μην φοβάσαι τα νερά... Κι αν παρασυρθείς μακριά απ'τον στόχο σου, θα βρεθεί το σωστό βότσαλο να σε κρατήσει. Κι αν αργήσει, μην τρομάξεις. Έτσι είναι το ποτάμι, κάποιο λόγο θα'χει...
Μέχρι να τα καταφέρεις, μέχρι να διασχίσεις, σε περιμένουν πολλά. Βότσαλο με βότσαλο θα τα καταφέρεις. Φτάνει να πατάς εκεί που πρέπει, να απλώσεις το χέρι εκεί που πρέπει. Όχι αλλού... Γιατί έτσι, μπορεί να σπρώξεις (έστω άθελα) κάποιο συνοδοιπόρο σου σε βαθιά νερά.. Θα του δυσκολέψεις το ταξίδι προς...
Μου λες κουράστηκες... Δεν θες να περιμένεις...
26 Αυγούστου 2009
Twin(kle) twin(kle) little star...
My wish never reached the ground...
The Falling Star that caught it was taken by a Grey Bull's song...
The Grey Bull sang like a nightingale while he looked at the Star, again and again, but wouldn't smile at it...
And then the Bull smiled... And the Star shone brighter than ever, and shot sparkles high into the sky... And it followed the Bull for as long as the Night's Curtains permitted...
For quite a long time, the Grey Bull would enjoy the Star's light. And the Star would enjoy the Bull's looks and smiles.
But one clear summer night, Bats came for the Bull. They covered him with their wings and their awful cries, and the little Star could barely catch a glimpse of the gentle Bull...
And the Bull never complained. Never protested, never tried to free himself of the Bats. Slowly, he forgot all about the Star's shining light, and its tender love. Whenever the Star tried to shine, the Bull would cover his eyes, because the light was too bright now..
As time went by, the Bull kept riding and the Star kept following... But nothing was ever the same again... The Little Star fell ill... Without noticing it, its light went dimmer and dimmer... It lost its pace... Then the Sky turned its back on it...
As the Star lost its light, it lost height as well... It became a Falling Star once again...And as it fell the Star would not lose sight of the Grey Bull.. It looked and looked until it reached my soul...
I felt its sorrow...
My wish never reached the ground...
The Falling Star that caught it was taken by a Grey Bull's song...
The Grey Bull sang like a nightingale while he looked at the Star, again and again, but wouldn't smile at it...
And then the Bull smiled... And the Star shone brighter than ever, and shot sparkles high into the sky... And it followed the Bull for as long as the Night's Curtains permitted...
For quite a long time, the Grey Bull would enjoy the Star's light. And the Star would enjoy the Bull's looks and smiles.
But one clear summer night, Bats came for the Bull. They covered him with their wings and their awful cries, and the little Star could barely catch a glimpse of the gentle Bull...
And the Bull never complained. Never protested, never tried to free himself of the Bats. Slowly, he forgot all about the Star's shining light, and its tender love. Whenever the Star tried to shine, the Bull would cover his eyes, because the light was too bright now..
As time went by, the Bull kept riding and the Star kept following... But nothing was ever the same again... The Little Star fell ill... Without noticing it, its light went dimmer and dimmer... It lost its pace... Then the Sky turned its back on it...
As the Star lost its light, it lost height as well... It became a Falling Star once again...And as it fell the Star would not lose sight of the Grey Bull.. It looked and looked until it reached my soul...
I felt its sorrow...
01 Ιουνίου 2009
Requiem of a starry night...
Mentally and emotionally alone, she lay awake in her dreams. They were the only place where she could be herself.
On gloomy nights, she'd become the mysterious woman that sold antique books in that shop next to the Seine, the one that looked like someone planted it between the tall buildings and grew out of its roots, feeding on the beloved memories of the passers-by.
On happy nights, she'd become the happy mother of three, watching her kids play in the garden at the rear of the house, while her husband sitting next to her, listened to the evening news and carved figures of children on a piece of wood.
On content nights, she'd ride her horse through the desert, asking the stars for the way, singing in unison with her dog, a proper cowboy.
On summer nights, if she had had time to think, she'd be the girl who'd sit quietly by the fire while the others sang, and who, at some point, obeying the moon, would walk into the water and swim to her heart's content.
On incomplete nights, she'd turn into a fearless Amazon, who would throw herself into adventures, not thinking about tomorrow, nor other incomplete souls..
But on most nights, she'd be the pilgrim, who walks the earth, and travels through countries, meeting new people, harvesting their words but trying not to give away her own thoughts.
One of those nights, before she could sleep into reality, her child told on her, and she was forced to hide her tears. Surrounded by his love, she couldn't not smile. His hand in hers, she felt comforted, that through all, at least she had lived that kind of love. Later, when all she wanted was to be a drifter for ten minutes, ripening on the road, her dog would not let her lose her way. It demanded her smile, at all costs.
She then gave up for the night. Her dreams would exhaust her either way, but she felt like that last drop was hanging over the glass. She needed to find a way to empty it, before the water could be spilled. Had she managed to nevertheless lose her way?
She had been following a nightingale, that led nowhere. Though it was kind enough to turn around and lead her back to where she had started, she felt more confused than ever. Her surroundings were familiar, yet changed. At some point, she realised that the change had come from within. She was looking at the world through a different pair of eyes, though the color they filtered into what she saw was unclear. Black, grey, white, or blue? She desperately wanted white, but for now, all she could see was black.
Since she had not chosen these eyes, she tried to make the best of what she had. And yet, knowing what she could have been seeing, the world became darker and darker. It would not let her rest. Her dreams sometimes where helpful, but other times they were the worst that could happen.
She wished for the better, and closed her eyelids. Flying fish and swimming flamingoes came to visit her, poking at the dark screen, until they'd opened a big gap. Poseidon swam through that hole, and greeted her with delight. He told her that her wish would be granted. So long as she completed three tasks.
The first one was easy, as she had already started going down that road. Learning who she was while others were watching unaware had been one of her goals for some time now. The second one was a bit more difficult, but had too, crossed her mind. Cutting all ties connecting her to humans, yet not forgetting how to be one, meant conquering her passions. Not an easy task, bearing in mind the pounding of her heart when the untouchable sight was too hurtful. The third task was to die. Hm. Regardless of the distance already forming between her and the world, that was one decision that was not hers to take.
And so she would have to wait. Once more. Ready, matured, and ordinary, she wouldn't be the mermaid she'd dreamed. She'd be the grandmother of that mermaid, content to at least have played a part in forming such a perfect creature.
Mentally and emotionally alone, she lay awake in her dreams. They were the only place where she could be herself.
On gloomy nights, she'd become the mysterious woman that sold antique books in that shop next to the Seine, the one that looked like someone planted it between the tall buildings and grew out of its roots, feeding on the beloved memories of the passers-by.
On happy nights, she'd become the happy mother of three, watching her kids play in the garden at the rear of the house, while her husband sitting next to her, listened to the evening news and carved figures of children on a piece of wood.
On content nights, she'd ride her horse through the desert, asking the stars for the way, singing in unison with her dog, a proper cowboy.
On summer nights, if she had had time to think, she'd be the girl who'd sit quietly by the fire while the others sang, and who, at some point, obeying the moon, would walk into the water and swim to her heart's content.
On incomplete nights, she'd turn into a fearless Amazon, who would throw herself into adventures, not thinking about tomorrow, nor other incomplete souls..
But on most nights, she'd be the pilgrim, who walks the earth, and travels through countries, meeting new people, harvesting their words but trying not to give away her own thoughts.
One of those nights, before she could sleep into reality, her child told on her, and she was forced to hide her tears. Surrounded by his love, she couldn't not smile. His hand in hers, she felt comforted, that through all, at least she had lived that kind of love. Later, when all she wanted was to be a drifter for ten minutes, ripening on the road, her dog would not let her lose her way. It demanded her smile, at all costs.
She then gave up for the night. Her dreams would exhaust her either way, but she felt like that last drop was hanging over the glass. She needed to find a way to empty it, before the water could be spilled. Had she managed to nevertheless lose her way?
She had been following a nightingale, that led nowhere. Though it was kind enough to turn around and lead her back to where she had started, she felt more confused than ever. Her surroundings were familiar, yet changed. At some point, she realised that the change had come from within. She was looking at the world through a different pair of eyes, though the color they filtered into what she saw was unclear. Black, grey, white, or blue? She desperately wanted white, but for now, all she could see was black.
Since she had not chosen these eyes, she tried to make the best of what she had. And yet, knowing what she could have been seeing, the world became darker and darker. It would not let her rest. Her dreams sometimes where helpful, but other times they were the worst that could happen.
She wished for the better, and closed her eyelids. Flying fish and swimming flamingoes came to visit her, poking at the dark screen, until they'd opened a big gap. Poseidon swam through that hole, and greeted her with delight. He told her that her wish would be granted. So long as she completed three tasks.
The first one was easy, as she had already started going down that road. Learning who she was while others were watching unaware had been one of her goals for some time now. The second one was a bit more difficult, but had too, crossed her mind. Cutting all ties connecting her to humans, yet not forgetting how to be one, meant conquering her passions. Not an easy task, bearing in mind the pounding of her heart when the untouchable sight was too hurtful. The third task was to die. Hm. Regardless of the distance already forming between her and the world, that was one decision that was not hers to take.
And so she would have to wait. Once more. Ready, matured, and ordinary, she wouldn't be the mermaid she'd dreamed. She'd be the grandmother of that mermaid, content to at least have played a part in forming such a perfect creature.
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