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Miltos Gitas Poem
Battling at the thought’s end. Ruined cities.
The last survivors were helped to escape
together with their unborn children.
Eyes tossing nervously. Fears floating on schizophrenic reality.
A ghost passed by resembling her,
yet it is not possible she survived of the massacre –
she risked her life,
bet our happiness.
Memories, naked, spring from the soul’s catacombs
to remind us the youth’s past.
We chose the way we wanted to lose,
the defeat hurts less.
Empty chairs looking at the sunset
like our blood was never spilled in this battleground.
Swinging between the fear and the sky
having the apnea capturing my sorrow.
Copyright © Miltos Gitas | Year Posted 2016
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Miltos Gitas Poem
Black clothes.
Shadowy souls, monotonous sounds.
Getting late. Patience has blackened out..
I stubbornly wait. Left my attitude behind.
Humble, not blasphemous.
Victim of my mercy.
Black clothes.
Shivering glances and their colours dark.
Getting late. Time has blackened out.
I savor the feelings of urge. Left my intentions behind.
Challenger of my own decay,
yet not a nihilist of the others.
Black clothes.
Poems the cracks, titles the rapists.
Getting late. Hallucinations have blackened out.
I ruined with tears. Left my motives behind.
Comedian, not played out,
parasitic entity of my mind.
Black clothes
in altar.
Copyright © Miltos Gitas | Year Posted 2016
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Miltos Gitas Poem
My Lord...
I, the ill-fated, the scythe-bearing wind,
ask for forgiveness instead of death.
You do know that what I say is diurnal, don’t you?
Sibyl Herophile died prophesying their end
not mine.
I am hovering within your hands,
breathing from your own lungs.
I beg of you, forget the red prison house.
I fear, My Lord. Beckon me.
I no longer chant your hymns.
I have forgotten my childhood prayers.
Ramming in secular injustice
I seek my own sunrise.
In the affected I seek the authentic,
I cry to you, My Lord.
But then again, if you by judgment
find me dishonorable,
I beg of you, in secret bury me.
Kill me
by giving me the most unfavorable criticism.
Lay me to rest
in a huge mound of sun dust.
In you I trust,
My Lord.
Copyright © Miltos Gitas | Year Posted 2016
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Miltos Gitas Poem
I am the one
till the end of the dark path.
I am the one
and then someone else.
Opening the gates of doubts
and I search for traces of life.
All the cells of my mind unlocked
the detained prisoners are ignored.
I am the one
until the moment my pulses
begin an unruly dance.
And then, someone else,
the other
smiles ironically once more.
Till the end of the dark path,
till the sorrow’s borders,
the one was the other
and both together, the intangible.
Copyright © Miltos Gitas | Year Posted 2016
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Miltos Gitas Poem
The lies over.
Denial turned page.
I locked inside me.
Gift you the key ...
Copyright © Miltos Gitas | Year Posted 2016
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Miltos Gitas Poem
All my facial expressions
imprinted on the window of a bus.
My secrets well hidden
the back of the sky.
The first lot was played.
Lost're both.
Lost and the others.
Copyright © Miltos Gitas | Year Posted 2016
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