Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Wind brushes past the hair,
Time ticks into rings of years.
Day by day, I count the passing hours,
Whether at dawn or dusk.
Memory freezes in that instant,
Yet echoes in the ear remain so near yet worlds apart.
And the voice from the microphone,
Along with images, settles into the cradle of time.
Should I chase after a romance
That does not belong to the season?
Facing a ship trapped in a storm,
I clutch the broken rope,
As the vessel slips toward a horizon
Farther than the sea itself.
Your gaze
Is the cycle of five thousand years I have awaited.
Through wind and rain I follow, brave within,
My heart trembling time and again,
Like a bud longing
To bloom in the darkness of night.
Yet all that comes
Is the cold moonlight from the edge of the sky,
Spilling onto the river of my heart, freezing into thin ice.
Time cannot withstand the flow of years,
It dims,
And beauty turns to walk away.
One afternoon
Is not long in a lifetime,
Yet it is so extraordinary
That it leaves me searching through the night by the window,
Listening to the lonely wind knocking against the pane.
In that distant corridor,
My anticipation and delight
Are dragged into weariness along with the darkness,
Vanishing into the dusk.
The gaze that seemed once touched
Loses its luster in the feeble passage of time.
Now I understand—
That unseen abyss of love and hatred,
Like ripples stirred by wind upon the sea,
Drifts lightly in the currents of fate.
