The Magic of Gypsies

Through the magic of gypsies,
flames leap and awaken my love.
I am enslaved by infatuation.
I lie in bed
and throw myself into sleep
wishing my dreams will cast off this spell.
I look at the sky and the stars,
yet sadness is my only companion.
My dreams are not tame.
They haunt my thinking.
I am waiting to see you and write you a verse
but fear teases me and time passes,
leaves fall, excess and dust continue
to castigate concepts.
My poem of love is trapped in the flames
through the magic of gypsies.

Fotios Panos
from my Poetry Book Shakespeare in Jungle

Ηesitation

Do not ever hold back the doubts
leaves them as a gift in the sky,
not to steal the smile of the night.
Waits a homesick, one bang to patch
the eyes that are full of tears of the yard.
Courtiers with plunders in their hearts
Pleasure jumping from alley to alley neighing,
Begging to follow the lips that crave.
Whitewashed houses lined up
in the war zone of storm
painted to besiege the wind,
to fill their bags with oysters.
Myrrh bearing are dying while they are casting their scarves
lest disappears the May Day of the sky
waiting for those who bring the candle on the other bank
on the other Makronisos, where you play and draw
another consciousness, hesitancy.
The ghost appeared, the villagers are saying
and the flowers are withered.
A little rain, a little water on the hair,
lest the time shortens and the wrinkles vanish.
Dizziness in the ears and fallacy on the road
a hush that brings that brings hesitancy on the compass
a breathy roar that does not mock the night.
You speak tenderly putting a crystal in the middle of the earth
to melt bitter and hateful faces.
The last bell didn’t ring,
Dawned but fate washed the face
and the sun started up to get dazzled by the little voice it has

Fotios Panos

Beach

Hidden is the pebble, hidden is the immortality of Phoenix
and the day is sunny, detached from the narthex of silence.
This beach is asymmetric with shells tied
to the bottom of the sea, with beautiful curves,
that every kingdom would envy
that every night would like to learn the secrets.
No birds fly and you do not turn in
the calm sea because you have embraced
the winter’s coat and pleasure has conquered you.
The net has no color, surrendered in hopes,
nonexistent boats but the air is sweet and shares kisses.
Untouched the footprints, untouched the mugs of coffee
that tend to emigrate
in the breath of the sky that darkness.
The stones are still, timeless, wounded by the wind of the north
and the magical marks breathing slowly,
when the carnival celebrates.
The absence of your Angel forgot the number of the stars
and you returned in to the light
that doesn’t smell travel,
there is no imagination.
All this travel it’s a wave and I’ll listen to the body that is tortured
on a mast and waits for the sunset.

Fotios Panos

Myrrh bearing Lake

In the Myrrh bearing lake dropped the blanket of the Sun
and I lay down beside her and breathed.
The vertigo that I had in my eyes faded
and the gurgling waters woke the prophecies
from the dry cistern,
from the hot bodies of the stone forgotten tears
flooded by the many beaks,
irrepressible rain turned its neck
and wept hail raising dust in her ornate hair.
In Myrrh bearing lake at night the sheet shares her secrets
and confesses love and chaos
motionless in a shallow sand counts crabs.
On her back stars drawing a face
and blond hair and night flowers blooming
dreamy colors and creeds.
In that breath falls and hillside
making aside the flavor of the weather and the throne of God
because happiness is alive.
Inside its lilies, hot coffee, awkwardly couples
caressing and kissing
and a sandy beach to sink by the blue sky
small, free clouds chasing birds and kites.
In her warm embrace the nebula of the coffee store frayed
And paranoia grows
beside two spoiled heavens.

Fotios Panos