DIMITRIS P. KRANIOTIS

DIMITRIS

P. KRANIOTIS

ILLUSIONS

Noiseless wrinkles

on our forehead

the frontiers of history,

shed oblique glances

at Homer's verses.

Illusions

full of guilt

redeem

wounded whispers

that became echoes

in lighted caves

of the fools and the innocent.

DENIALS

A roar of cars

seals the dawn

with short-cut answers,

with unyielding denials

that are repeated

explicitly

every sunset.

LIMITS

Fragments of glasses

in the empty room

of the inarticulate whispers,

bleed

our limits,

fill

with sores

the caress of our soul.

DIMITRIS P. KRANIOTIS