The umelted ice layer
Winter is approaching. The leaves of the tree outside my window fall patiently with the merciless wind, covering the ground with a yellow skin of death and desolation.
I've seen this tree blosson two times and die two times. I often observe it standing up at my window and wonder how many more times will I see it die and blossom before I die and blossom myself.
Nature is wise and this tree is trying to teach me a lesson; you do not really die when the cold wind of the winter threathens to tear off your leaves. You only fall asleep for a while and mourn only to blossom in the next spring, stronger and greener than ever.
Cold fills my heart and I don't listen to the wise tree's lecture. The menacing Wind of the North has overblown the Sun of the South. Helplessness reigns in my life and the deep sadness of the defeat has overblown my spirit.
In vain have I tried to grow and love regardless. Reason is not the answer and my heart has disappointed me again. I am flagging and crying, I am on the ground, defeated and helpless. The yellow skin of death quilts my sore knees and my reason quilts my sore heart. But neither the yellow death, nor the stubborn reason can keep me from hitting the ground.
You promised to melt down the icy upper layer of my heart and fill the leaves of the dying tree outside my window with the phthalo green, the emerald green, the grass green... you promised to fill my leaves, so deprived of love, with juice of life and give them back the green that had been taken away from them. You promised to be strong enough to wait until my melting point. You promised to awaken my passion and discover together every inch of my body. You said you were strong enough to defeat distance and time and send me your beautiful rays through my window every morning, the window from which I now helplessly see my tree die. You promised that your warmth and brightness would be enough.
You promised not to burn me, to give me your heat, to lighten my path, and to fill my body with yourself. You promised to plant the seed of love in me and grow old together. I wanted you to make warmth to me, make light to me, and make love to me... patiently, passionately, crazily. I feel lonelier than ever. I feel deceived, defeated, de-lived.
Sun of the South, why can't your rays reach me? Why can I not reach your heart? How can you not listen when my throat bleeds so loud I am shouting the love I feel for you? How can you see me sink in that yellow skin of dying leaves... so coldly, so cowardly, so merciless? I am afraid of a deadly winter coming to fill my heart with a yellow layer of dry leaves while I helplessly will stand up at my window and see its light get extinguished and the ice layer get yet thicker, yet stronger, yet colder.
It is spring now. The air is warm and it blows a soft breeze that caresses my bare and tired feet. The sun is setting on my right and I hear somewhere afar, hiding behind sound of horns and the roaring of engines, the notes of a saxophone. It is a street musician earning his living in Finsbury Park; his sad melody so soothing.
It is a beautiful day to be reborn in the midst of the intense pain that still surrounds my heart. Sometimes, when I think about it, I am amazed to be alive after seeing my heart die thousands of times before at the memory of the raving waves of the Aegean Sea. I have managed to exist, but nothing that was supposed to be is and life barely touches me; just like the breeze that revolves my hair, its color faded during the winter.
You have burnt me, oh beautiful Sun of the South! Your blue eyes have eclipsed my pupils and left me with no desire to see the love I once gave you in the eyes of someone new. You have left me in fear of falling in love again. I don’t know how to love again. The burns on my skin sting still and I walk very slowly under the weight of this loss. I am thirsty; I’m thirsty for passion, for vengeance, and hatred. I am thirsty for love, satisfaction, dissatisfaction... Suffering the pain of deceit is harder than the pain of unfulfilled love.
You have deceived me, oh mendacious Aegean Sun! Your lies hurt more than thousand whiplashes and I still cannot comprehend let alone forgive your blaming me for your indifference. Deceitful sun, false sun, unscrupulous sun! I’m keeping the memory of your kisses and the endless nights of unsatisfied passion. I love you, but I hate you, oh God of Deception. Sleep in the smallest and darkest place in my heart until, one day, your presence is vanished altogether from my memory and your rays never, ever reach me again.