Πέμπτη, Φεβρουαρίου 20


A sun that kills ….


Fahrenheit, 

                one hundred and twelve degrees. 

On deck, away from home and no one sees, 
how the sun of the Persian Gulf, 
                                         [is burning my head,
and that of life at sea 
I feel half dead.


Arabian Golf, 
loading crude oil...

I do dream some day of walking on solid soil,
able to breathe air without noxious gases,
without vapors from crude oil and molasses..
____________________________________________________________



* Extract from "The Broken Mooring Line", an experiential
poetic work // page c   // e-mail: pmataragas@yahoo.com //
Texts and Narration: Odysseus Heavilayias - ROTTERDAM //
Language adjustments and text adaptation: Kellene G Safis - CHICAGO//
Digital adaptation and text editing: Cathy Rapakoulia Mataraga - PIRAEUS



 Utopia 

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