THE GAME

From Poetic Course “To petagma tou Mikrou Ianou 1991-1995”. ISBN 978- 960- 90172-2-0

The Game

by Nikolaos Moschovos

The Quintessence of the moment remains. 

Nothing else. 

Neither the tears from your eyes nor the laughter of the childhood. 

No hartred frightens you if love looks you in the eyes. 

Occasionally through the centuries it is the game that determines. 

The Act went by it became a distant fog, 

memory of the unsaid images treasured up in the chest of the heart. 

The Joy of the moment remains. 

When little Janus sings nobody listens to the hymn. 

What he left behind is what was left behind 

Nothing else through the centuries it is the game that determines. 

A trivial mask he wears he’s not scared of its shell. 

Alien arrows, unrecognizable paths forgotten in the oblivion of the past 

Emotion dead. 

Absolute Zero, the times goes by.

 Dreams of seashores, illusory paintings Recorded in the book of his memory. 

He only seeks one Word in the eternity

 he aims like a faraway star he illuminates it is the game that determines.