In between midnight thoughts
I’ve taken caravan rides
watching cellophane
horizons unfold before me.
I’ve watched whole cities
crumble into pieces.
Junkies hallucinating,
starving for yet another
angry fix drinking petrol
within the poison alleys.
They who toss their life into
the wastebasket.
They who frantically danced
in night clubs feeling the
blood run through their
veins.
They who crossed hidden
streets in search of
junkyards of forgotten pains.
They who climbed on
rooftops screaming about
freedom.
They who are now left
rotting amongst dead
leaves.
Thirteen nights and thirteen
days on a freight train did I
travel.
The scruffy greybeard
beside me let his lyre play
that sweet old-time melody
all the way through.
He never said a word; he
didn’t have to.
I stumbled upon the city
where clouds slaughter the
sky.
I saw the ragged poet
scream towards a plastic sea
of puppets.
They are all trying to beat
time, but mostly, time beats
them.
I heard mothers cry over
their dead children and
nobody turning their head.
I watched people pass by a
white man killing his black
dog.
I met a girl; her skin was all
burned up.
She handed me a flower, she
whispered words unspoken.
I felt her slowly disappear as
I held her in my arms.
Out by the docks the lonely
figure lights another cigarette.
Through empty visions of a
midnight street I sailed
desert oceans gazing the
cement stars above.
I still see your face in the
smoke rings the crawling
cars leave behind.
In between lights flickering
and noise piercing through
the air I dream of your velvet
blue eyes and wonder.
You’ve torn me apart, taken
half of me with you.
But then again, I somehow
am complete.
Through your diving
conscience I’ve come to be a man.
The sinking wrecks of cities
still haunt me.
I see people speak and still
say nothing.
In many an undercover
night swimming have I
questioned if any of it was
worth.
I walked through swamps
wishing that the endless rain
would stop.
I hid under trees weeping,
fearing the cannonballs that
flew over my head.
Many a time did I glance at
the sky knowing any
moment could be the last.
I sleep at nights knowing I
killed a man with the
same scared face as mine.
At midnights I question if
I’m just a pawn after all.
I may not know much, but
there is one thing I’m sure of;
Even in the pitch black
night, through the dirt, the
scum, the vileness,
desperate screaming of life,
rising through the suburbs,
is the scent of the
nightflowers, preparing the
crimson sunrise.
Niovi Karanastasi
1st Model Middle School of Athens
