Παρασκευή, Νοεμβρίου 10, 2006

At Home


The time I was a little girl
my smiles were gold and precious.
They winked away the rusty dust,
they winked at every mischief,
they even broke the burden’s wings
and sang the slightest fever.

When mom was just a little girl –
how memorable her eyebrows –
even the smallest fluffy things
were wording sighs on rainbows,
even the railroads leading home
would smell of longing windows…

Children have left so long ago,
their rooms are looking drizzly.
Children whose eyes are raining dim,
children with no expressions.
Children whose pride’s been bent to death
and now is resting restless.

One must be searching for a dream,
once read in colour pages,
the other hides back in the dark
and prays hard to her canvas,
with lightning strikes and cloudy needs
to fill the empty spacings...