CH. BELLES POETRY (Χρίστος Μπελλές )

 

Judge Me…

Throughout my life, my son,
don’t think that I did anything remarkable…
I tried:
to stitch utopia
with an olive branch and a sunrise;
to knit the golden threads of the sun
with the tear of a child;
to tame the winter’s descents
by weaving shooting stars into cypress treetops;
to carve in my workshop
the dream into a ring
to marry the world…
Don’t think that I did anything remarkable, my son,
throughout my whole life…

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Lullaby

Bird… sweet…
from the essence of dreams
from brine
from the meltemi
in your eyes, the flame of Kanaris
burns
which land of the Phaeacians
bewitches you
and which siren is calling you
which wide sea
sails you away…
Bird… sweet…
from the clay of the stars
from brine
from the meltemi
in the sands of your eyes
Ionia signals with fire
in the world’s neighbourhoods
the maiden will think:
―an identical Christ from our place too…‖
Sweet… bird…
from the essence of dreams
from brine
from the meltemi
from the clay of the stars…
in your clear gaze,
May and September
perform a divine dance…
if you only knew how much…
I love you…
Sweet… bird…
from the essence of dreams
and from the clay of the stars
if you only knew how much I love you…
if you only knew where you take me on a journey…
My boy, may I cherish you…

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Carpe Diem

A river,
therefore, is life,
our life,
within the sun-devoured,
Hades-devoured, time…
A redemptive river,
life-giving,
yet unrelenting,
each time it converses
with the rain,
the thunder,
with the nightingales,
the moons,
and the open sea…
A river is life…
ah… my life…