Alkinoos Ioannidis - Kathreftis

Και είπες ποτέ μου μην κοιτώ τον άλλον μες τα μάτια,
γιατί καθρέφτης γίνομαι κι όλοι με σπαν' κομμάτια...
Και όπως πάντα δεν σε άκουσα...αμέτρητες φορές...

Payback Time

Look me in the eye if you dare

Persuade me that you care

Don’t turn your face away from me

I’m your creation

The result of your mistake

You never give but always take

Leaving nothing behind

Nowhere for my pain to hide

Now I’m here to receive my payment

You of all people should know that

Everything has consequences

Your time has come

Nothing can be undone

Can you meet my face?

Are you even able to face my wrath?

No, of course you’re not

And now I’m walking my own path

This is what makes it better

The fact that you never thought what I’d become

The size of your corruption

The depth of my destruction

And what was left

You took everything

But none was yours

And now the time has come to give it back

Goodnight dear mother

Αλλάζω

Κουράστηκα να μετρώ τις πληγές που ανοίγεις

Κουράστηκα να κοιτάζω τα λάθη που κρίνεις

Βυθίζομαι σ’ένα ατέλειωτο αβάσταχτο γκρίζο

Βυθίζομαι μα την πτώση σαν θεατής ατενίζω

Μ’ ακουμπάς και το μόνο που νιώθω αγκάθια

Μ’ ακουμπάς και φουντώνει μονάχα η απάθεια

Κομμάτια ψυχή και ελπίδες μπροστά στην ματιά μου

Κομμάτια, σκορπίζουν σαν πέταλα τα πάντα μπροστά μου

Λαχταρώ σαν διψασμένη ορχιδέα το νερό της

Λαχταρώ το λευκό της πρώιμης νιότης

Αναζητώ όσα δεν έδωσε κανείς

Αναζητώ στο κορμί ανάσες στοργής

Διεκδικώ ηφαίστεια στη λάβα πνιγμένα

Διεκδικώ όνειρα με πέταλα στρωμένα

Γκρεμίζω τείχη και εμπόδια μπροστά μου

Γκρεμίζω κι όσα μάτωσαν την καρδιά μου

Αφήνομαι τώρα στα δικά μου τα πάθη

Αφήνομαι πια μα κρατώ όσα έχω μάθει

Αλλάζω γοργά στο βωμό κάθε πληγής

Αλλάζω πια σκέψη και τρόπο ζωής

Πορφυρένια Ψυχή

Γυρνώ το χρόνο μήπως βρω κάτι ν’ απέμεινε

Ένα κουβάρι ματωμένο οι εικόνες

Και μια φωνή που κάθε βράδυ επέμενε

Μη σπας ψυχή μου, θα φύγουν οι χειμώνες

Κάνω ένα βήμα στο κενό ν' αγγίξω τα σύννεφα

Μήπως και βρω ένα κομμάτι από σένα

Ένα σημάδι πως βλέπεις το σήμερα

Μια ελπίδα πως δεν είναι όλα χαμένα

Μέσα στο γκρίζο

Έμαθες να προχωράς

Μέσα στο γκρίζο

Νύχτα και μέρα να σπας

Μέσα στο γκρίζο

Μια πεισματάρα καρδιά

Μέσα στο γκρίζο

Συνέχισε ν’ αγαπά

Τρέχεις στον κόσμο που’ χεις φτιάξει ανέμελα

Σκορπάς τριγύρω σου εικόνες και χρώμα

Μα εκεί αυτή να στα γκρεμίζει συθέμελα

Νομίζεις παίζει και γελάς, έχεις πινέλο ακόμα

Ήταν ημέρα ή βράδυ ήτανε άνοιξη η χειμώνας

Όταν σου έκρυψε για πάντα το χρώμα

Κι έγινες μόνιμος του κόσμου σου τότε θαμώνας

Μα είχε μείνει μονάχα γκρίζο και χώμα

Σ’ αυτό το γκρίζο

Έμαθες να προχωράς

Σ’ αυτό το γκρίζο

Νύχτα και μέρα να σπας

Σ’ αυτό το γκρίζο

Μια πορφυρένια ψυχή

Σ’ αυτό το γκρίζο

Έμαθε να συγχωρεί

O Βωμός

Σαν άλλη Ιφιγένεια στραμμένη στο βωμό σου
Περίμενες θεόσταλτο το χάδι στο λαιμό σου

Αυτό όμως για σένα ήταν το αιώνιο βάσανο σου 
Από τη δύση ως την αυγή να ξαναζείς το θάνατο σου

Θησεία στη θησεία να οδεύει η ζωή σου
 Και στην ανατολή δέσμια ξανά στη φυλακή σου

 Το αίμα να κυλά αόρατο στους άλλους
 Κι εσύ να ονειρεύεσαι ταξίδια με κουρσάρους

Και να που ανατρέπονται τα όσα δεδομένα
Τι ειρωνεία, τσεκούρι και σπαθί σ’εκείνη στραμμένα

 Παιχνίδι νόμιζες πως είναι στο μυαλό σου
Μα εκείνη τώρα κάθεται στον άλλοτε βωμό σου

«Αυτοί που φταίξαν θα πληρώσουν» ήχησε απ’τους Θεούς σου
 Και τα δεσμά πρώτη φορά δεν ήταν στους καρπούς σου

ACTIVE MEMBER - FIERA

Έχει λυτά τα μαλλιά της, στα μικρά δάχτυλά της
σκαρώνει χάρτινα καράβια - σαλπάρουν τα όνειρά της,
κοχύλια στ' αυτιά της και χίλια χρόνια μπροστά
ακούει να γίνονται τ' αδύνατα απ 'το τώρα, δυνατά.
Κρατάει τα δάκρυα στα μάτια κλειδωμένα
κι η περηφάνια της κοκκίνισε μελάνι στην πένα·
σ' άσπρο χαρτί δε το χωράει τ' όνομα της,
Fiera

The Raven

by Edgar Allan Poe
(published 1845)


Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by Horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!




[This version of the poem is from the Richmond Semi-Weekly Examiner, September 25, 1849. It is generally accepted as the final version authorized by Poe. Earlier and later versions had some minor differences. Source]

See the Versions of The Raven page.