Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
All my poems have been annihilated. There are no poems left here anymore. I gathered the corpses of my poems. Using wood from the pillars of a ruined house, I built a frame and burned those corpses. The souls of the poems swam beautifully through the air. Ashes scattered.
And then spring of despair came to the desolate earth. Only the greed of women could be relied upon. They cooked everything. They placed the cooked food on plates, and they created spring. They devoured the flesh. They prophesied that everything would be born from it.
They loved divination and prophecy. From them they even created hope. In the spring they had created, grass and mushrooms grew. They gave birth to children. Children grew up on the rough earth, thinking about something called poetry, which they knew only through words.
Imagination and reality were mixed together. The children wanted to know the true nature of lust and violence. Using branches lying on the earth, they wrote poems upon the earth. Those poems were screams without explanation. From them the bones of poetry were born. From those bones, flesh was born. Everything happened just as the women had prophesied.
October 1, 2026
