Sweet the light of afternoon falls
on the gulf of Thessaloniki
giving meaning to the ever moving waves
born together with my memories.
Their whispers are spread all over
accompanying the old angels
moved away from the temple of a Byzantine church.
And as the first evening makes me wet
with tears and sighs from the past,
cherubic clouds in the west
take away the God inspired Nikolas Kavasilas,
Gregory Palamas and the zealots,
a multitude of humble and saints, the people of God.
Blessed are the hours of the language of light,
temporary incorporeal prints
for him who knows the reading of quietness
and the hinted melody of the hidden love.
In the sky of Thessaloniki the eternity swims,
at the dawn of the third millennium of the Grace.
While the griefs flutter on the mobile phones
of the unreasonable loneliness and the longing of the touch
of the communion of the souls.
(25 selected luminous poems)