01 Jul I went through (KIKI DIMOULA)
I walk and it gets dark.
I make up my mind and it gets dark.
No, I am not sad.
I have been curious and studious.
I know of everything. A bit of everything.
The names of flowers when they shrivel,
when the words become green and when we become cold.
How easy the feelings’ lock turns
with any of oblivion’s keys.
No, I am not sad.
I went through rainy days,
I joined in behind that
liquid barbwire
patiently and unnoticed,
like the trees’ pain
when their last leaf departs
and like the fear of thοse who are brave.
No, I am not sad.
I went through gardens, stood next to fountains
and saw many statuettes that were laughing
at invisible motives of joy.
And little cupid-likes, braggers.
Their outstretched bows
appeared like half moons at my nights and I begun musing.
I had many and beautiful dreams
and had dreams of being forgotten.
No, I am not sad.
I walked a lot through feelings,
mine and others,
and there was always enough space left between them
for the wide time to pass through.
I went through post offices again and went through again.
I wrote letters again and wrote again
and prayed in vain to the god of the answer.
I received brief cards:
A heartfelt goodbye from Patras
and some greetings
from the leaning Tower of Pisa.
No, I am not sad that the day is leaning.
I’ve talked a lot. To people,
to lampposts, to photographs.
And to chains a lot.
I learned how to read palms
and to lose palms.
No, I am not sad.
I travelled for sure.
I went a bit to here, and a bit to there…
Everywhere, the world was ready to age.
I lost a bit from here, and I lost a bit from there.
I lost when being cautious
and when being careless.
I went to the sea as well.
I was due something wide. Let’s say I received it.
I was afraid of loneliness
and imagined people.
I saw them falling
from the hand of a quiet dust particle
that run through a sun ray
and others from the sound of a slight bell.
And I was rung through the chimes
of an orthodox barrenness.
No, I am not sad.
I touched fire and got slightly burned.
And I did not even miss the moons’ know-how.
Their cast over the seas and the eyes,
dark, it ground me.
No, I am not sad.
As much as I could, I resisted this river
when it had a lot of water, not to drag me,
and as much as possible I imagined water
in dry riverbeds
and drifted away.
No, I am not sad.
It’s getting dark at the right time.
Kiki Dimoula
