feel

“fingers’ sun” phot@rt by Aeglie

like a butterfly
hovering over a flower
your fingers touch me

greek version

imperfect agony

Countryside keeps quieting, covered in morning’s peace, hidden under a thin blanket of rime
But a robin’s sounded around and a small swarm of bees gathering earlier blooming flowers cheated by warm winter
Butterflies also sing, and the motionless leaves of small orange trees as well; human hearing, though, appears to be imperfect
Small trees heavy laden with orange fruit patiently await to meet me
I escape into the city, hoping to waste my agony; I waste myself instead
At the edge of the road, on the afternoon, I recall I have left behind small orange trees to grow up all alone

greek version

autumn lights up

Night grows longer
Colder grows the dark
In front of you –
beaming through you –
your inner light steps ahead;
the light you are
You now walk beyond
being not afraid of
any whispering shadows
Lighting your own will
you deliver out of black
colored, perfumed gardens
golden flowers, silver birds
hidden into misty air
eagerly awaiting:
You would whistle;
you would call, you ‘d wake
their beauty to flourish