Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
“Where words fail, music speaks.” Hans Christian Andersen
My violin knows the secret grammar of water,
a luminous evening unfolding in quiet grace—
the small cyclones of an ordinary life,
the hidden alchemy of fire,
the forlorn station of sighs in endless exile.
My violin knows
the hushed lament of a solitary veranda,
a cactus noon veiled behind patient shadows.
Upon the evening table gathers a forest of darkness;
from coiled roots rise improbable flowers,
while the river bends slowly
under the tender mercy of light.
My violin knows
across the pale meadows of moonlight
the visible rush of wings,
and in the postman’s satchel
a brief monsoon of forgotten melodies.
My violin knows
the inexhaustible sun, water, and wind
that lovers inherit from the earth.
