Poems' Collection
POEMS
0F MRS PANAGIOTA CHRISTOPOULOU-ZALONI
Athens-Greece
20160621
It’s time
It’s time of thought.
The Love discovers
Secret paths
And “she’s guided to the dream”.
It’s time of beautiful…
The Love conquers
The summit of Olympus
Emotion plays pleasantly.
It’s the time of union…
The Love gathers
Untouched roses
The night is perfumed with myrrh.
It’s time of coronation…
The Love on its throne
With pure golden wreaths
Happiness is liberated.
Words of mystery
In the coincidence of the times
The future things have come
Loaded with words of mystery
They spread them in our thirsty souls
And they passed through our pathless.
They are living there now,
Shy, enchanted and modest
They can’t reach our lips,
They only play silently, secretly,
Behind the transparent glow of our eyes,
When one sees himself
In the eyes of the other one,
Until the sunset comes behind them
And from the peeks, the wind blow round with myrrh,
Rolling downhill thyme and mint upon us.
Night’s song
The pillow on which you are getting old
With hours full of light,
With hours full of ecstasies
You, the open county-singer,
You, the god of fantasy
And the sky
From your open window
To fill your palms
With stars…
To set himself in silence
In old erotic paths
Enchanted by the country-singer’s songs
To be kissed in deep lust
With words, colors, fragrances,
Engraving lines
On the body of a night’s song
In chorus words
An ocean of emotions and feelings
Intoxicated,
He widens the night,
To explore boundlessness,
To conquer what’s absolute,
To imprison the skies
An ocean of thoughts and ideas
He rebels in the night, intoxicated
To be transformed into voices
So white and strange,
To be transformed in chorus words
Of texts of life,
To present again, lost moments
To be naturalized in time.
How?
Night…
A good night,
With its own mystery,
With its own torture
Without laughter
Your dream parked along
In an anonymous vertical line
On the road of Reality
It’s rising…
How?
How can you fight it?
Fuente Grande
She traveled, she traveled…
All the time she traveled in carefree,
On the hinder croups of her blue horse
But alas, yesterday, in the fountain
Of the new Fuente Grande
They harmed her on the back,
Full of jealousy, the obscene ones
She was assumed as a disturbing
Beggar of L o v e
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