~του Γιώργου Δόντσου~
«Μερικές φορές,χρειάζεται να καταφύγει κάποιος σε μια ξένη γλώσσα ή σε ένα αφιλόξενο μέρος,για να επιτευχθεί ακριβώς εκείνου του είδους η ανοικείωση, που θα κάνει την οπτική του πάλι οικεία»
Γ.Δ.
I.
To stand in a place of woe,
To colonise life’s failure,
To become one with the fiend,
There’s a need to whisper,
There’s a need to forfeit,
And a bended knee;
Weight of burdens inhumane,
It will never again feel the same
After the sun sets inane,
A map forever stained;
Factories producing factories,
People producing people.
The certain value
Of absolute vacuity;
A fear of not finding ground
To stand in place of woe,
To colonise life’s failure,
To become one with the fiend.
II. Lord do thee ever provide us with safe passage?
For the wait is long and dark
And this cold, naked stark
Walk, to cure the damage.
Down to the valley
Where heroes are bored,
I made my fragile stand
And waited for them to care;
Say something!
For my life I’ve wasted,
Scrutiny over gold;
Say something!
For my eyes are blinded
And home is just a notion;
Dead heroes and noble spirits
Under this sun,
Are no more
Than middle aged people
Taking their afternoon nap.
III. I sat by the river, to rest my weary bones
And the river didn’t offer rest nor comfort
And my voice was unheard;
Strange that One must be loud these days
And rivers aren’t our friends anymore. I entered the forest
And the forest was changed,
Thrushes speaking in tongues obscene,
Daffodils without a care in the world,
The forest took no interest in me;
I climbed the mountain
And heard the bears, the wolves, the foxes
The eagles, the rabbits, the snakes, Laughing at my disgrace.
I didn’t think of visiting the sea,
For the irony would be too much to handle;
So I took down the highway, Iron and carbon
To find some solace in creatures
With the likes of me.
IV.
As they watch us all, all play dead;
I’ll sleep in this quiet room
Where no one sees, I’ll play dead;
Sons of mothers
Yet all are others.
And finally the epiphany
Of faded will;
I went out
And saw this beautiful young woman
“Excuse me madam, do you have the time?”
“Please don’t waste mine”
And walked away;
Malice, oh malice, these people
Only know malice,
But reaching out for their hand
Do you think you’d shake your own?
How much more effort
To build our private hells?
I walked a fair amount of time
To get out of Carthage
And when I breathed air
Without fuel, Having covered the territory of God, I knew
That precious mercy can be found
Only in celestial light
Or in lightbulbs;
Depends on the perspective
And the price you’re willing to pay;
And I paid,
Now staring At a lightbulb sun;
A Greek Writing English poems.
