THE ABUSED

The Death of Socrates, 1787
Jacques-Louis David (French, 1748–1825)
Catharine Lorillard Wolfe Collection, Wolfe Fund, 1931 (31.45)

I am in fact a dreaming slave

I built my prison around me

I thought I was the doorkeeper

I was wrong 

A bunch of opportunists 

were enjoying my innocence

My urge for excellence

became the tool for their contentment

I have been unwillingly a cornerstone 

in a house of abusers

So now, they are in charge

and I am the abused, the disgraced

I am a Greek intellectual

ΚΟΙΝΟΤΟΠΙΑ/COMMONPLACE 23 Απριλίου 2013 στις 3:56 π.μ.

http://stenpett.deviantart.com/art/Eye-3-165743965

Πεινασμένα σκυλιά

κατασπαράσσουν

την καρδιά μου

θαρρώ μόνο

εγώ αγάπησα

κι οι άλλοι πόθησαν

ο καθένας το 

μερίδιό του

Σαν όλον δεν χώρεσα

στην ψυχή κανενός

Αλλά είναι σύνηθες...

Κι ό,τι αισθάνομαι

απλά κοινοτοπία

(c)ΧρύσαΒελησσαρίου2013

Hungry dogs

maul

my heart

I suppose I was

the only one who felt love

and others lusted after

their share of me

As a whole

I  did not fit in

anyone's soul 

But this is usual ...

And whatever I feel

it is just commonplace

(c)ChryssaVelissariou2013

THE WEALTHIEST

Sometimes she thinks 

she wants more

But the fact is

she has so much already

She feels full

Not with what people

would consider 

as wealth

No, she's not rich

but she is full of love

So maybe she is

the wealthiest 

woman in the whole world

MOMENT

http://akash-sangma.deviantart.com/art/Moment-of-Impact-173416302

It is late for me

but not too late for

the moment

I can live this moment

even if it came late

I can live my dream

for a while

even if belated

I'll be always grateful

I had this chance

It is pity to 

go away without 

having lived your dream 

even for this moment

THE LIZARD

I could climb your mountain 

every hour 

minute by minute

for all my life

like a green lizard 

climbing on the rocks

hot and dizzy under the sun 

of my passion for you

I could flow

from your top down 

to your foothills

like a raging river

keeping you in stimulation 

in an eternal euphoria

making you feel like 

a strong royal eagle

ruler of the skies

never scared by death

I could live with you

Maybe...

But I must confine myself

to look at you through 

pictures or imagination

to collect moments and feelings

to write to you poems 

of doubtful value

you are not even going to 

honor with your reading... 

(c)ChryssaVelissariou2013

YOU LEFT HER GO

http://menoevil.deviantart.com/art/A-girl-and-her-dead-tree-380853787

When I will

go away again

You will say

She was here

She sat here

She wept here 

Is it true

She came near?

Then I will

Disappear

'Cause I was

Nothing but

A strange dream

Giving hope

Searching hope

I don't know

Don't be sad!

I was trapped

In the same 

Dreamers' way

ΛΙΜΟΣ / FAMINE

 Alice Liddell as a beggar girl. Photo by Lewis Carroll. 1858

Μοναξιά, παράνοια, με μικρά 

διαλείμματα επικοινωνίας

Έξω απ' το φούρνο ζήτουλες

πεινασμένοι άνθρωποι εκλιπαρούν

Το κέρμα το ισχνό ανθρωπάκι

της το ζήτησε για το ψωμί 

που καταβροχθίζει με βουλιμία

Μπήκαν στα μάτια της σκόνες

γι' αυτό κλαίει, σκοτώνει το τσιγάρο

μα ο καπνός τη συνεφέρνει

Τι την κοιτάς σα να τη λυπάσαι; 

Κι αυτή του έρωτα είναι ζητιάνα

απλώνει χέρι στα ξένα' ποτέ

τίποτα και κανείς δεν της 

δόθηκε απόλυτα, γι' αυτό

πάντα αισθάνεται πείνα, λιμό'

κάτι σαν ερωτευμένη παρίας

"Έλα εδώ" της είπες μια μέρα

και πολλά της έδωσες' τόσα που 

με τίποτε άλλο δε χορταίνει πια...

translation

Loneliness, paranoia, with small

communication intervals

Outside the bakery homeless

hungry people begging

The coin, which the thin little woman

asked from her; it was for the piece of bread

she is now devouring with bulimia

Ashes entered into her eyes 

so she says that's why she's crying;

smoking is killing her but 

the smoke is consoling her 

Why are you looking at her 

as if you feel sorry for her?

Yes, she is also a love's beggar

she is stealing happiness from another 

woman; never, nothing and no one 

has been entirely offered to her, so

she always feels hungry, in famine;

something like a love's pariah

"Come here", you told her one day

and then you gave her so much that

nothing less is enough for her anymore...

I TALK TOO MUCH

I tried not to write

For a while

To concentrate my being

To press my emotions

To distillate my spirit 

To throw away the lightness

But it is so cruel

To stay alone with myself

Like an old lady in front of a mirror

Examining every single new wrinkle

So I think I'll be tempted again

just hoping to be less generous with words 

ONE

When you become one

sometimes you don't need to see

you don't even talk

you just feel you coexist in

the same miracles' space-time... 

(c)ChryssaVelissariou2013

EARLY MATURED TANKA

Abdul Karim Majdal Al Beik - Syrian Artist
Wall childhood 2
190 × 175 cm
2008

When were we children?

Printed our childhood on a wall

to prove we've been there

We recall no innocence though

we had to mature early 

(c)ChryssaVelissariou2013