Sunday, December 11, 2011

games



ώρες-ώρες μιλάς σε άλλη 
γλώσσα,  τη γράφεις έτσι 
κορακίστικη 
για να μου δείξεις ότι 
απουσιάζεις
λες και δεν βλέπω 
τα  παπούτσια σου 
να περισσεύουν σε 
μιας κουρτίνας στρίφωμα 
στέκεσαι εκεί 
με πλάτη στο ανοιχτό παράθυρο
κι ούτε πηδάς 
μα κι ούτε το σφαλίζεις
πλευριτωμένο , ανόητο παιδί _


4 comments:

Rick Forrestal said...

I wish those were MY shoes.

:-)
Kisses . . .

Setty Lepida said...

Οh my Ricky, thank goodness these aren't your shoes... actually they are both mine... I'm translating the poem so you can see why

sometimes you speak this
other language
like that you write it
gibberish
so you can prove
you're not there
as if I can't see your shoes
pointing out
under some radom curtain trail
there you stand
with your back against
the open window
you won't jump
and you won't have it shut
you freezing, stupid child_


see hon? no good these shoes, no good

Rick Forrestal said...

Oops.
Not what I intended.

I love your poem.

(I want to hide under your bed then.)
xo

Setty Lepida said...

heheheh ! you naughty Rick you :*