Υπαρχει ενα κομματι μεσα μου, που δεν ελεγχω.
Υπαρχει ενα γελιο μεσα μου, που εδω και καιρο κοιμαται.
Υπαρχει μια αναγκη ανεξηγητη, μεσα μου, φιμωμενη.
Το ξερω, δεν θα διαβασεις ποτε σου αυτες τις λεξεις,
και καπου αν τις δεις, απλα θα τις προσπερασεις.
Τραγικη φιγουρα εχω καταντησει, και γελοια
Μα ειναι αδιανοητο για μενα να συνεχισω να υπαρχω,
χωρις να λυσω το αινιγμα που αφησε αιωρουμενο η δικη σου απουσια.
Γιαυτο νιωθω την αναγκη να σου γραψω,
χωρις που θα αρχισω και που θα καταληξω να ξερω
Νιωθω την αναγκη τις λεξεις να σου φωναξω,
ομως και παλι, αξιοπρεπως θα σιωπησω.
Κι ας σαγαπω
Κι ας υποφερω.
Το μονο που αξιζε να πω,
αυτο που αληθεια θα πρεπε να ξερεις,
θα το πλακωσει η σιωπη,
γιατι κανενα λουλουδι δεν ανθισε μεσα στα σκοταδια,
καμια ζωη δεν αντεξε χωρις νερο,
καμια αγαπη δεν επεζησε την αδιαφορια.
Και ο πονος ποτε δεν ρωτησε,
αν εχεις χρονο να αφιερωσεις.
Αμειλικτος εισχωρησε, και εμεινε , και ριζωσε.
How to live life
Sometimes you have to be the painter,
sometimes you have to be the painting.
It is wise to know what of the two to choose to be.
When you are the painting, be a perfect still reflection of the beauty that stands inside, be the grace of the waters and the air on the canvas, still but yet moving ever so slightly inside your dreams.
When you are the painter, be a man doomed to unending despair in case you let the beauty inside vanish, or the waters stand forever still, be a man that's brave enough, with full conviction to paint with every single breath, from the moment the pen strikes until all life is out.
Breathless... both the painting and the painter.
Transformed by the force of nature and the blessing of the love.
I painted thus. Now my work is complete. On me, in me, around me, my painting, me , my painting.
My painting. I am the painting. waiting to be appreciated from the eye and the heart of another painter or painting ,same way I will appreciate the other paintings and painters.
The moment will come or not, where the match is found?
It doesnt matter.
When the painter masters the art of painting and the painting masters the art of giving birth to a painter or even just waking him up,the circle closes...
Life works, life tastes like cool water from the fridge, while your lips are still pepperred with the seasalt.
Life works, life sounds like the laughter of a baby nearly aged 8 months old, laughing without why, incontrollably, unstoppably, and the sound of the wind ever blowing, as time blows with it.
Life works, life smells like the ground in the garden after the sudden summer rain,like my grandma cookies or just like hot roasted coffee communed on a a dark afternoon.
Life works, life looks like two young people with their eyes dazed by love,with their hearts exploding and resurecting in every split second of their breaths, of their laughs, of their kisses and their games.
Life takes the sweet taste in your mouth and rolls it along with the laughter of the baby and the smell of the cookies and packs it with all the sounds, all the tastes, all the looks, all the smells, packs it all together. The moment comes and a drop of this is instilled into a kiss.
my kiss,
your kiss
everybody's kiss.
But you have to know when to be a painter and when to be the painting.
and to fully commit to be the most perfect painting there is, and the most obstinate painter for getting the perfection of expression.
Never settle for less. Strive for life and for love. You wont go wrong..
sometimes you have to be the painting.
It is wise to know what of the two to choose to be.
When you are the painting, be a perfect still reflection of the beauty that stands inside, be the grace of the waters and the air on the canvas, still but yet moving ever so slightly inside your dreams.
When you are the painter, be a man doomed to unending despair in case you let the beauty inside vanish, or the waters stand forever still, be a man that's brave enough, with full conviction to paint with every single breath, from the moment the pen strikes until all life is out.
Breathless... both the painting and the painter.
Transformed by the force of nature and the blessing of the love.
I painted thus. Now my work is complete. On me, in me, around me, my painting, me , my painting.
My painting. I am the painting. waiting to be appreciated from the eye and the heart of another painter or painting ,same way I will appreciate the other paintings and painters.
The moment will come or not, where the match is found?
It doesnt matter.
When the painter masters the art of painting and the painting masters the art of giving birth to a painter or even just waking him up,the circle closes...
Life works, life tastes like cool water from the fridge, while your lips are still pepperred with the seasalt.
Life works, life sounds like the laughter of a baby nearly aged 8 months old, laughing without why, incontrollably, unstoppably, and the sound of the wind ever blowing, as time blows with it.
Life works, life smells like the ground in the garden after the sudden summer rain,like my grandma cookies or just like hot roasted coffee communed on a a dark afternoon.
Life works, life looks like two young people with their eyes dazed by love,with their hearts exploding and resurecting in every split second of their breaths, of their laughs, of their kisses and their games.
Life takes the sweet taste in your mouth and rolls it along with the laughter of the baby and the smell of the cookies and packs it with all the sounds, all the tastes, all the looks, all the smells, packs it all together. The moment comes and a drop of this is instilled into a kiss.
my kiss,
your kiss
everybody's kiss.
But you have to know when to be a painter and when to be the painting.
and to fully commit to be the most perfect painting there is, and the most obstinate painter for getting the perfection of expression.
Never settle for less. Strive for life and for love. You wont go wrong..
