The Tree
This tree could be a man
yet to discover
where does his body go
or it could be the future
when the seed gets rotten and
sour apples grow
or the devil
who stayed behind and
during the nights
keeps shaking the branches
over the wild bodies.
Archive for 10/12/2025
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VII
Something vague gave birth to me
even if they told me
I was born in the sunshine.
small in passion and in sorrow
I walk toward something light
that will be life
and I stop…
I return…death.
I count time with what I’ve lived
and what is forthcoming
that resembles
the incomparable end.
only, look, the craft and the fisherman
can’t be separated from the blue
Matador
The afternoon light froze the palms of the matador, his legs turned rubbery when his crystallized blood decorated the left horn of the black bull
—Want to find someone else? Tell me, lover-boy, is this what you want?
Who can take away all the sorrow and hide it from the spectators’ hearts? The matador laid his head on the softened sand like on a pillow, and the goring dream of his youth released his sultry bones back to the elements
— You can do that at any time, but don’t dare bring her to this house
Can the dead matador defy Fate and grace my late years with its deserving invincibility? Under the poplars, where my first tears fell, I cast my dream as the sweat trickles down my eyebrows and moistens the decadence of my life
—I wish I could break free from my fear and run away as fast as I can
Can the matador who defied his death grace me with his courage when the bull gored his groin?
—I can do this, I know it. It is just a matter of time
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 