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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
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