A keresés eredménye

A not handmade icon

The witches warn me about a danger, a black cloud

The requiem of the seal

This was Akrivoula
the grand-daughter of old-Loukena
She is crowned1 with seaweed
she is given shells as a dowry2
And the old-lady is still mourning over
her births of the past.
As if sorrows and sufferings
are ever going to come to an end.
 

• 1. στεφάνια= during the greek-orthodox wedding ceremony, the priest puts on the head of the married couple olive wreaths, reminding the ancient greek κότινος who crowned the heads of the athletes winning in Olympic games. Those wreaths were kept sacred in a frame and were put on the wall, above the bed inside the bedroom of the married couple , for a lifetime
• 2. Akrivoula was the heroine of the novel ' Μοιρολόγι της Φώκιας' , a young girl that fell by accident of the rocks into the deep sea and got drowned while her grandmother, Loukena, was doing laundry by the sea mourning over her lost beloved ones, near the cemetery.

Τhe song of the gypsy

With the batter, with the sledgehammer1
the gypsy wakes up the village
The village, the village
Tralala, laro, laro...
 
For the hammer, for the hammer
the fine young lady is crazy for it
the young lady, the young lady,
Tralala, lari, lari...
 
Inside the fire, inside the fire
the gypsy plays with this glance
the glance, the glance
Tralala, lara lara
 

• 1. βαρειό>βαριοπούλα> big heavy hammer

Psalm

Once again i am headed to your yard, my Christ
to bend over your beloved doorsteps
that my soul longs for, with an insatiable desire
Near you, my flesh rejoiced as my heart did too.
 
Τhe swallow found a nest and the turtle dove a shelter,
so that they would place in there poor chicks to lie down
into your holy altar, my immortal Christ.
Just one day spent in your yard, is better than thousands ( somewhere else)
 
If only i would be thrown aside in the shadow of your Temple
it would be better, than live where sinners hang out.
 

The dark turtle dove

Mother, i am the unfortunate, dark turtle dove
bitten by wind, hurt by the rain
The hapless! Wherever it might turn too, wherever it passes by
founds no rock to stand on, nor a branch to lie down.
 
I am the lonely little boat, the storm tossed little boat
inside the wide sea, inside the foamed sea
i am struggling against the waves, without sails, without a steering wheel
There is no other anchor for me, but your prayer and only.