The one who escaped

With the double-edged sword of attrition

to bring the iris back to life

-my deepest wound-

time robs me of color.

Suddenly it enters the wound of illusions

for that bright eternal heaven,

but in the other wound, the more sensitive one, he does not hurry

– lives from this pain-

until vanity dries up in her own blood

-does the darkness freeze?-

and I wonder how I still get it out.

 

Because in the dark prison of my mind,

naked, tired, defeated,

I drag the stone of my destiny

in an aimless circle drawn by the dynasties,

imposing, blind, angry,

the Society and its coveted Acceptance.

Was death always so heavy?

 

In this deadly orbit of mine

I only carry a bottle of dreams with me

-how to avoid dehydration?-

and exhausted I crawl into my dim cell

locking the door behind me several times.

Anxiety, darkness, panic, fear

smug steel bars around me

-they also make those screams at night...

 

Where and where I escape,

-criminally hellish act-

I take the key out of my pocket,

I unlock the heavy steel door,

i get out of my cell and taunt the guards.

Before I get out of prison I regret.

I come back and humbly apologize to them

-deep fear and unconscious awareness

that I will come back again.

I laugh and shout: I am free!

But I don't stop running,

Is my prison following me?

-is that how prisons work?

 

My most sensitive wound,

I then anoint with a myriad of exotic oils,

with dreams, with romance, with love, with smiles,

-even with that of happiness the rare.

Then, however, I hide her under my robe,

in society's eyes not to come

-talisman precious the sacred vanity.

 

Again, I can't stop being afraid of the robbery

-how is he punished who steals hope?

 

Then I start building walls to protect her

from the sharp blade of emotions

-have you been cut without screaming?

In my new fortress I place guards on the ramparts

self-satisfaction, greed, glory, money

-the most ruthless criminals-

and I place them under the command of my relentless ego.

And I don't stop being afraid of loss.

 

Then I wound her alone by turning the knife

in the most sensitive places of hope,

so as to be trained in pain and blood

and not to hesitate in the face of its own decay.

In the deep darkness I lock it and put the key in my pocket,

I chain her up and stand there watching over her

-how else not to lose her?

 

Heavy is the stone we drag stranded

of the freedom of uncontrolled fear.

Meekly I circle around the tyrants.

All I miss then are these steel bars,

which I immediately make them sparkle smugly

and stay awake for purposes at night

-they shout their slogans here and there.

 

Then I stop running – I feel satisfied.

My prison no longer follows me.

I escaped.

I am free.

---

Thomas Kalokiris

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