Yesterday I was alone again. Outside, the desolation froze hearts. I put on my coat and went out into the street. I wanted to clothe the loneliness of the world with my presence. photo by jplenio, https://pixabay.com...
Kostas Vasilakos
Bouquet
And if you have spent all the springtime I have given you, do not fear loneliness and rain. I will decorate the winters you left me with cyclamen and sun, to give a gift to your feast of the heart, a bouquet of life. The footsteps of the sea The footsteps of the sea arrive...
A flower is born
How did this road suddenly become so narrow and the passage to the sky become a dead end? A dried-up lake with birds digging for water and two desperate rivers running to hide. Train wrecks on the melted tracks of the sun and words ignored in...
White dreams
At night, dreams are white so that the subconscious is not lost when it emerges to the surface of the mind. When the sun rises, only a few of them become doves that carry rays of light in their beaks to the memory and love to the heart. Most are snow...
The thorn
For years I cultivated a thorn sown by the pain of the wind. I hoped a flower would bloom in the white of angels, for desires to roam in heaven. I wanted a red of dusk, for songs to dance in the fire. But it was the purple that pierced me and...
Kostas Vasilakos
Wilderness
Yesterday I was alone again. Outside, the desolation froze hearts. I put on my coat and went out into the street. I wanted to clothe the loneliness of the world with my presence. photo by jplenio, https://pixabay.com...
Bouquet
And if you have spent all the springtime I have given you, do not fear loneliness and rain. I will decorate the winters you left me with cyclamen and sun, to give a gift to your feast of the heart, a bouquet of life. The footsteps of the sea The footsteps of the sea arrive...
A flower is born
How did this road suddenly become so narrow and the passage to the sky become a dead end? A dried-up lake with birds digging for water and two desperate rivers running to hide. Train wrecks on the melted tracks of the sun and words ignored in...
White dreams
At night, dreams are white so that the subconscious is not lost when it emerges to the surface of the mind. When the sun rises, only a few of them become doves that carry rays of light in their beaks to the memory and love to the heart. Most are snow...
The thorn
For years I cultivated a thorn sown by the pain of the wind. I hoped a flower would bloom in the white of angels, for desires to roam in heaven. I wanted a red of dusk, for songs to dance in the fire. But it was the purple that pierced me and...





