Tag: poem

But, O the heavy change, now thou art gone,
Now thou art gone, and never must return!

John Milton, Lycidas

no need, my boy, to shed a tear
when, lost in the crowded urban
thicket, you enter a blind alley.
you can always step back and try
a different path. and so i did, over
and over, telling myself that it was
what he would have taught me.

to tell the truth, he never really talked
to me. all he could do was give orders
and enforce them. so it was not easy
for me to talk to him either. we lived
like strangers under one roof, me with
my nose in books, him going on fishing
trips and drinking himself to death.

so, who was that boy now standing
in front of a wall at the end of a new
dead end? i can not remember. i just know
that it took me many years to get here
and there is no way back, but i am
too tired to climb the wall, so i lie down
on the cobblestones and fall asleep.

if i dream of your old fishing rod,
i may forget everything else, father.

i met her by chance at the hellenic
lectures. enchanted, i watched her
taking notes with her swan fountain
pen, occasionally brushing back a lock
of hair that escaped from her silver
sparrow barrette and fell over her eye.
after a while, she noticed my longing
glances and she smiled back.

now, after all these years together,
i have to finally accept that while being
as beautiful as the marble she is made of,
she is just as cold.

Arise, ye more than dead!

John Dryden, Song for Saint Cecilia’s Day, 1687

it is my sunday with the kids.
we are going to the science centre.
i think they will like it and maybe
even start talking to me.

i was so angry back then,
so resentful. now, i have to live
with the consequences

and learn how to forgive
and ask for forgiveness.

we all have to.

first, nineteen men killed two thousand
nine hundred and seventy-seven people.
then the “war on terror” began, which has
so far cost the lives of over three million
people, as a direct result of war violence
or as collateral damage.

it has been raining since the morning,
so i decided to stay in bed longer and read
the old spaniard’s the tragic sense of life.
later, i had a bowl of porridge for breakfast
and the usual dose of vitamins. i realised
what day it was only when i decided to sign
the papers, finally ending the twenty years
of my marriage. what a coincidence.

first, nineteen men killed two thousand
nine hundred and seventy-seven people.
the rest are just the statistics of deaths
and a catchphrase.

as i read the history of the greco-persian wars,
portrayed as the great war between east and west,
as a clash of two civilisations, i can not help but feel
that i read a history of masculinity. because where
do women appear in this bloodshed? if mentioned at all,
they are victims of murder, rape, and captivity,
or mothers, wives, daughters and sisters
mourning their loved ones.

and please, brother, do not try to convince me
that this is just some ancient history, long time gone.
any news outlet will contradict you.

i wonder how do they manage to look
at us?

i am a straight, white, middle-class, able-bodied male.
i am a highly paid, well-educated white-collar worker.
i am a european union member states’ passport holder.
i am a law-abiding, liberal-minded, responsible citizen.
i am fit, active, well-nourished, and fully vaccinated.
i am a lost cause.

if i could simply leave,
turn off the light, and slam the door,
drawing this galling lease to a close,
without a single glance back,

then i could simply live,
not word for word, but line by line,
drawing a day from borrowed tears,
fleeting like nameless stanzas.

if you only read texts that you agree with,
then you will just reinforce your biases.
so i read the tragic sense of life and feel sorry
for myself. because there is nothing better
than wallowing in self-pity, as you can always
count on a pinch of someone’s attention
and you do not have to make any effort
to forgive yourself.

a year ago, i woke up early in the morning,
ate a bowl of porridge for breakfast, brushed my teeth,
changed clothes, and spent the next few hours exploring
the intricacies of remote work.
i had greek yogurt with nuts and dried fruit for lunch,
then a short walk before going back to the computer.
for dinner we ate new potatoes with dill and buttermilk,
which always reminds me of holidays in the countryside
in my childhood.
and then you said we need to talk.

a year ago, it was the end of the world,
or just another day.