Auvergne

An open window with green shutters
The land with a tree or two just at the front
As night falls, and the mist dresses the small field
In an airy rhapsody of silence
Which spreads and holds nature like a concert
With no musicians
Where the only music is that of the silence
Buzzing around with hopes from nothing,
All those things we were dreaming and have lost
Any substance now.
Saint Remy de Blot isolated in a beauty that hurts you
With nothing.
Even the mountains not far in this country of love
Do not exist any more.
A bell adds notes,
The isolated goat has no sleep tonight,
No one knows of what she dreams,
Death has no place around her house,
Only simple, small tasks to perform
For the little money of food.
Peace has a name here,
It’s known around asking no one, nothing.

Despina Katsirea.

You

The flight of the bird is secure,
Stable, marvelling the wind,
Flapping its wings
As it sits on the beam of the sun.
I have you.
All the days and moments,
And nights, all years which have gone,
They are now, they will come.
Like the flight of the bird
Feeling the warmth of the sun
And the coolness of rain.
And the sea’s breeze,
You are here.
Years come for nothing,
It’s a book which holds always its pages
Stuck open on the same picture.
I breath a day
And it holds me years,
The sleep does not count
As we share it.
It’s the bells of the church
That from time to time bring me back to town.
I see the houses,
I know the streets,
I have been here before with sunshine.
You have me,
Merciless sometimes like a drug
We pull one another along,
Our addiction is a permanent picture
Of rain and calmness,
And usually none can recognise much of the other.
I write as this is my only rebellion to commitment,
I cherish the bird’s fly in freedom,
But I am only human
And in a prison of love
That escape is unwanted.
Look at the sea, it’s so endless,
I miss it in the horizon.

Despina Katsirea.

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