In that little house, afar off,
which housed in childhood’s years the reserves
of the life which played joyously
in that half-hidden view of the world,
with a heart’s flutter of anticipation
of an aim alloyed
by soul and bodies gone astray,
it is time that I entered in again
to that lonely little house,
worn out by choices and doings
which have collected in muddled heaps
and blocked the road of life.
There’s the little house, beautiful still it stands
amid the garden,
but wrapped in bushes, leaves and branches,
which loved it more than I did,
when I wandered aimlessly in the world.
As I look through the windows
at the leaves of the trees flying
like yellow and red butterflies
in the breath of the wind,
forgetfulness of the world comes
like a fresh breeze
on a forehead inflamed with cares
from the labyrinthine worlds of the useless.
Autumn of nature and life,
how beautifully they go together,
but the uncorrupted meaning
is still hidden.
Some discord has wormed its way
cunningly and covertly from the gaze of life
and tarnished the absolute match.
The human autumn has lost its glory.
But here’s the rain which has begun,
so slight and invisible,
upon the earth thirsting for hope
open-handedly scatters life.
The peeping of the primal nakedness
has not had time to grow to manhood,
nature’s tear was joyful;
it shattered despondency
with a start upon a new life.
In this guileless joy
the snares of the world have loosened.
No humbling tomb will receive
the frayed remnants of life.
The fiery being lies in wait to give the message.
Rainfalls of tears have heroically drowned the mistakes
and with impetus like the light
have poured themselves out on the slopes of time,
on the grooves left
by the spirit for signposts
to a new beginning which was perpetually built
by the unseen soul, that waited
in the gold-woven garment of joy
which so beautifully mingled pain with what is new,
in an outburst of joy.
The rivers of tears have now become
rivers of fire which built
the new world of the soul
in the same old body, which waited
for the woof of its fate to unravel.
And who would have thought that the rain,
in the boundlessness of nature,
has long since laid out
the road of untiring joy?
Fiery flames of change
dance within the worlds,
like the drops of rain
which rolled down the windows
or like the repentant tears
which, in the forgotten house of the soul,
searched out from the very start
the fire thread of the aim
of that life which wished to blossom.
(Photograph by Yiannis Zisis)