Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Translated to English: Sevil Gulten
Dedicated to Mother
The poem that I didn’t write to you
Will destroy me inside of myself.
When I die it will fill into my spirit
And will leave inside of my body.
I shall leave injustice on my shoulders,
Neither the soil nor stone will know.
The spring and winter that I found in my love
Won’t be back forever.
I AM A WOMAN
I am not a painter
But I know a lot of colors
Most of painters are unaware of them:
Color of love, color of longing, color of grief…
I am not a composer
But I am able to hear the sounds
Of which any composer can’t hear:
Sound harmony of parting, joining and hope.
I am not a gardener
But as I feel the scents of flowers,
I also can feel the scent of days and months
Fragrant garland of colorful feelings
Gives a charm to my life.
I am not a painter,
I am not a composer,
I am not a gardener either…
I am a woman
Whom the God created
In a pleasant hour…
There is the light of love of God
In my eyes and in my heart…
EACH EVENING A HOPE PASSED AWAY INSIDE OF YOU
To the married women who feel themselves lonely
Each evening a hope passed away inside of you
Each evening a new grief was born there.
You shed tears to empty your heart,
But you were drown in of your own tears.
Only in your dreams your husband caressed you,
Only in dreams your wishes took wings.
They spoke about your false devotion,
But you never were satisfied with your destiny.
You turned to a statue at the window,
Like the gravestone of the dead love.
Neither spring, nor summer warmed your heart,
Like that autumn and winter of the life.
You kept the fragrant memories,
Only they are left from that love.
It is an add destiny, after marriage,
You are called married, but you feel lonely.
The familiar faces of my friends
Will disappear in front of my eyes.
After you my spirit will look for
The word being worthy to you.
The poem that I didn’t write you
Will go down into the grave in secret.
You also won’t shed tears
To the poem that didn’t come to life.
