Poems' Collection

POEMS 0F MRS PANAGIOTA CHRISTOPOULOU-ZALONI Athens-Greece 20160621 It’s time It’s time of thought. The Love discovers Secret paths And “she’s guided to the dream”. It’s time of beautiful… The Love conquers The summit of Olympus Emotion plays pleasantly. It’s the time of union… The Love gathers Untouched roses The night is perfumed with myrrh. It’s time of coronation… The Love on its throne With pure golden wreaths Happiness is liberated. Words of mystery In the coincidence of the times The future things have come Loaded with words of mystery They spread them in our thirsty souls And they passed through our pathless. They are living there now, Shy, enchanted and modest They can’t reach our lips, They only play silently, secretly, Behind the transparent glow of our eyes, When one sees himself In the eyes of the other one, Until the sunset comes behind them And from the peeks, the wind blow round with myrrh, Rolling downhill thyme and mint upon us. Night’s song The pillow on which you are getting old With hours full of light, With hours full of ecstasies You, the open county-singer, You, the god of fantasy And the sky From your open window To fill your palms With stars… To set himself in silence In old erotic paths Enchanted by the country-singer’s songs To be kissed in deep lust With words, colors, fragrances, Engraving lines On the body of a night’s song In chorus words An ocean of emotions and feelings Intoxicated, He widens the night, To explore boundlessness, To conquer what’s absolute, To imprison the skies An ocean of thoughts and ideas He rebels in the night, intoxicated To be transformed into voices So white and strange, To be transformed in chorus words Of texts of life, To present again, lost moments To be naturalized in time. How? Night… A good night, With its own mystery, With its own torture Without laughter Your dream parked along In an anonymous vertical line On the road of Reality It’s rising… How? How can you fight it? Fuente Grande She traveled, she traveled… All the time she traveled in carefree, On the hinder croups of her blue horse But alas, yesterday, in the fountain Of the new Fuente Grande They harmed her on the back, Full of jealousy, the obscene ones She was assumed as a disturbing Beggar of L o v e