The Meaning Holders

You keep telling me

Look around and look inside!

Untangle your mental ropes,

tie them up to the objects around you!

A nightingale, a pair of slippers, a coffee mug

Hold on to them!

Symbolise them!

Internalise them!

Tighten your grip until your knuckles turn white

Breadcrumbs marking your life’s path.

Ancient paintings on your cave walls telling a story.

Defining the boundary lines of your existence.

A meaningful cage full of resonant memories.

Suffocating… Let me out!

Grant me the freedom of reinvention and let me start afresh!

In awe of my sofa

You are standing there, uncelebrated, humble, taken for granted.

Wrinkled and creased,

Bumpy and stained,

Like a motherly hug or

a traveler’s bench in a far way forest.

A mental vessel to the past.

A silent witness of

hugs and kisses,

smiles and tears,

affections and quarrels.

Often, I have this dream of throwing you out,

making room for a younger version of you,

ironed and fluffy and perfect.

But then I remember that summer night when…

and the hot as hell noon that…

and that chilly morning when…

and that godforsaken moment that…

and I pause…in acceptance and compassion

for your wooden bones that show through the cushions

and in awe of the human acts which were enacted right there in front of you

and I let you be…

Deja Vu


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στις λεωφόρους.


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και βήμα ελέφαντα,

θα συνεχίσουν.


φωτ.: Byron Anway