Feather of the heart dipped into the ink of the universe

by Christos Polydorou

athalassa

History repeats
itself,
its shapes,
and patterns,
protagonists,
and situations.

It is plot, unfolding,
on repeat,
tragic, comic.
often both.

In the meantime
we watch tables,
watch them cleaned,
watch them cluttered,
watch them,
finally,
being turned:

I’m so ready.
I’ve been preparing.
Staring.
Observing.
And silently judging.
Keeping it all, to myself.
What would I say?

I can see history
like an arsonist?
a pyromaniac?
or a pyrotechnic?
sending spirals of fire
into the void,

circles of fire,
lines and thunderbolts,
of pure time melting
fire?
That I can only
stand back
and hope I am able
to think fast
and my hand
can keep up?

To say that would be
illumination.
To say that would be
rapture,
energy,
ecstasy.
To say that would be
enlightenment:

I’ve been preparing.

platypi

Photographs by me, circa 2012, Cyprus; Athalassa Park. I post these today to mark a dark anniversary in Cyprus, 1974, that of the coup against Archbishop Makarios, which led to the Turkish invasion five days later. My heart breaks knowing there is very little I can do to free my country, and perhaps it is naiveté to feel that any artistic contribution could alter the hearts not to mention the minds of those who feel it is their privilege to not only take what is not theirs, thirty four per cent of an island in the Mediterranean, but to grip on to it, for forty three years, and more, in a century where one’s empire is not geographical, it is mental.

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