Flickering figures in a series of streetscapes. Days and nights pass through scratchy loudspeakers. That house where you first stayed when you came here. You know, this area was not always so full of verbal incompetence. But now there’s a new ingredient to the natural order.
If you find yourself feeling like a statue in a ballroom, trust me: I know how it feels. As Rimbaud proclaimed, it absolutely sucks.
Change your vibe.
Abandon yourself gently into thin air. Put on dark blue silk, soft twilight obscurity.
Grab nourishment from flaming planets, the twining of a vine, storytellers and a heartbeat that doesn’t count time.
Let the lines roll off your tongue without thought, let them float like rose petals in a lazy afternoon – infinite space in the lethargy of an hour.
However strange it may seem to say this, keep breathing. Remember at what price such simplicity comes by.
Basilike Pappa lives in Greece, where she doesn’t work as a translator, a copy editor or a historian. Her work has appeared in Intrinsick, Rat’s Ass Review, Surreal Poetics, Bones, Dodging the Rain, Sonic Boom, Timeless Tales, Free Verse Revolution and Visual Verse. Most of the time she can be found at home. If she’s not there, I don’t know where she is. To read more of her work, you may visit her blog Silent Hour – Poetry and Prose by Basilike Pappa.