Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Those who have no interest in making wishes,
To them, a few falling meteors,
Are nothing more than a few stones—
Missing from the sky.
In their hands,
Still holding tools for illumination,
Getting through the night,
Like exhausting a dull, lifeless reel of film.
A cold, stern appearance,
Faces refusing to show kindness to themselves.
Each day, the sound of waves,
Has long washed away the sharpness of their tongues.
The only earth-shattering moment,
Might be when they themselves are about to fall.
In that instant, a few questions will rise in their hearts—
Could it be that the meaning of existence,
Is that there’s no meaning?
That the world of one’s own significance is so small,
It’s made entirely of dead ends?
