As twilight fell,
seeming strange in the snowy whiteness,
people hastened to shut themselves in their homes.
Voices and laughter are heard,
beings with a name
for those they love,
but a little further off they are unknown
and of no interest to others.
The houses were still snow-covered
and inside, warmth and signs of plenty.
But outside the little lives seek in despair
for just a little food
which their anonymity deserved with a thousand toils to have
in this world which has ceased
to be theirs.
The eyes of the man unwillingly saw the dog again,
the whole of it buried in the piles of rubbish,
despairingly searching for
the salvation which others carelessly had thrown
into this place of non-existence.
The dog did not even turn to look at him.
And its certainty wounded the man again
that the coldness of his heart was so plain
A simple turn in the road
was a turn of life,
there in the place of garbage
for the now familiar dog,
for the radiance of responsibility
of which the soul compassionately made a gift
to the calloused flesh
to remind it of the Light
which will dwell within it -
as if it always had.’
From the poem ‘The Stray Dog’, by Ioanna Moutsopoulou
Cycle III: Faces of Life
To read the whole poem, please, click here to order the poetry collection ‘Souls of Nature’
(Photographs by Yiannis Zisis)