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Monday 30 December 2019

the smile (present or missing)

lying
on the same bed
never meant much.

waking up in it,
together,
now, there’s your chance to find
the answer to all questions.








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the smile (present or missing) by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

Friday 15 November 2019

less than human

hanging
off the edge of a cliff,
pleading for help,
you raised your hand;

I tried to catch it,
only to find
that after all these years of idleness
mine had quietly
fallen off.








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less than human by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

Sunday 27 October 2019

late night company

it’s 3 a.m.
the wind is howling outside.
someone is sleeping peacefully
in my bed.

I stand alone in the kitchen,
wrapped in a hoodie, a pair of boxers,
and my slippers
- the fluffy ones.

the sink is dripping still,
the fridge still makes that strange noise
now and then.
the clock stopped
- the only sign that something changed.

I take a careful drag from one of your cigarettes,
like a thief, in the dark,
with the window open.
its smell
- your smell -
keeps me company.

I have this silly image of you
in my head
complaining about flowers,
and how much you hated them.
not because you were allergic,
but because people kept forgetting
that you were.

I’ll come by tomorrow,
bring you a fresh bunch
of perfect white lilies.
I’m pretty sure,
you would’ve found it funny.






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late night company by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

Sunday 13 October 2019

enemy

every day I wait
in my cold, dark prison,
for a simple,
honest,
“good morning.”
like you mean it.

every day I see your eyes,
on the other side
of the mirror,
and I know it won’t be
today.








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Sunday 29 September 2019

trapped outside the prison gates

dark grey clouds outside,
a hint of rain in the air,
my bones can feel it.
I am so
tired,
in a way that no sleep can mend.
tired of worrying
about a future I cannot control
or predict.
I would like to feel important,
I would really like to feel unique.
As if there aren’t millions exactly
like me, as if I’m not
replaceable in every respect. As if
it wasn’t certain beyond doubt
that history would unfold
in exactly the same way
whether I existed
or not.
I see you, suddenly,
and take a quick, short, breath

as you move in closer) your scent surrounds me,
earth, rain, and skin.
your lips, damaged but soft, burn
against mine.
my heart pounds harder and faster,
then it audibly skips a beat.
I close my eyes
and slowly let
this
world
fade (you move away,

back to your work.
the rain trickles down the window.
my coffee is just a hint colder.
my screen stares back at me,
no single extra word written in my
Project Description.
I’m really not good at this
grant-proposals-business. is it
time for a change, a different job maybe?
Am I too old for change? Too
irrelevant?












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a tribute to e. e. cummings

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trapped outside the prison gates by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

Sunday 15 September 2019

ravens

it happened one day as ordinary as the next.
some would’ve called it a Tuesday;
they would be right.
he was walking down the main street,
the buzz of cars and people surrounding him,
the smell of gas and garbage filling his nostrils,
the sun staring warmly at his back.

and then,
his right knee started jerking,
a pitch black raven burst from it,
detached itself and flew clumsily away.
then another, slightly smaller raven,
rose up from his left shoulder,
and took off.
then another and another,
from his face, his heart, his toes.
one moment his shape was still recognizable,
the next only a few, purple-black feathers
were left where he once stood.

now, if one were able to follow each raven’s path,
to witness their story,
they would see them flying to the corners of the earth
finding people of all shapes and sizes,
bringing them food,
bringing them flowers,
a few coins here and there,
sitting on their balconies,
watching the sunset with them,
or waiting out the storm.

what they wouldn’t be able to see,
is the ravens getting back together,
ever again.







______


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ravens by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

Sunday 28 July 2019

Starfall

d’

No one moves at first. No one can believe their eyes. A thick, black pool of blood is forming slowly around his cracked skull; a small firework shard rests inside it. Next to him, a young woman screaming, her knees on the floor, her fingers pushing his chest as if trying to tear it apart. Her cry pierces through the night, stilling the hearts of the ones nearby. Sirens can be heard in the distance, mixed with the music of marching bands. The people on the island will know, soon enough. The rest will find out in two days time, as there won’t be any newscast in the morning. Nobody works in Corfu on an Easter Sunday.

c’

He better be there. I won’t forgive him if he isn’t there. Why am I here? What am I hoping for, after all this time? For a happy ending? Will he even recognize me? Will I recognize him? Dammit, of course I will, don’t be stupid. I’m sure he’ll be late. Like half an hour late, he won’t even catch the fireworks. I’m sure he miscalculated, like he always does. He probably thought there wouldn’t be too much traffic, or that he would park his car nearby or something. As if that has ever worked. Always optimistic. Had to love him for that. Maybe he forgot all about it. Maybe he’s with some girl at the other end of the world right now. Well, if he is, I’ll find him and break his face, like he broke his promise. Where is he? This is our spot, there’s people with candles everywhere, the fireworks have started, it’s officially Easter, as far as I can tell. Where is he? 

b’

Οh, shit. The fireworks started. I hope I’m not too late. Please be there. Shit, shit, shit. I need to park somewhere. Why are there so many people this year? And my flight was delayed, it’s like the universe is trying to keep me away. Like that Coelho saying, but, like, the opposite. Shit, fuck this, I don’t care. I’ll just leave the car here, let them take it, let the bands walk over it, I don’t care. I need to get there now. I hope she came, I hope she’s there now. Of course she’s there, of course I stood her up, as always. Five years, not a single thing changed. Not a thing. For me, at least. Please, get out of the way people, yes, thank you. Shit, I can’t run to save my life. I should’ve hit the gym, like my dad used to always say. Well, too late now. Please be there. Please be there. I’m coming.

a’

It’s a beautiful afternoon at the city of Corfu. They are sitting at a coffee place on the central street, a place that’s been there since they were both children. The sun has almost set behind her, the wind is soft and warm, swallows fly all around them in an intricate display of absolute freedom. He can’t take his eyes off her, trying to carve her image inside his mind. He’ll be needing it, for the days to come.

“Did you know that hundreds of people are injured each year by fireworks?” he says. “There are cases where they explode imperfectly, or end up flying sideways, all sorts of gruesome stories about people’s hands flying off and houses burning down.”

“Don’t be silly, love, they’re just pretty. Why would you say all that? Have you ever heard of someone being hurt by a firework? I think you spend too much time on the internet.”

“You understand, I hope, that our own experiences aren’t the whole truth, right? There are more things happening out there.”

“I’m much more worried about the things happening in here” she says, pushing her finger to the side of his head.

“Hah, fair enough. Why were we talking about fireworks anyway?”

“Because I like them, and because goodbyes suck.”

“So, that’s gonna be our meeting point?”

“If you remember to come.”

“How could I ever forget.”

“You forget things all the time. I wonder how you even remembered to apply for that Master’s program.”

“Well, if I didn’t, I would have regretted it for the rest of my life, you know that.”

“I know, love. I’m glad you did. Your beautiful mind would rot in this place. I’m just sad I can’t come with you.”

“Sure you can! Just give me some time to set some things up, and then you can come and we’ll be great!”

“And what will I do there? You think I’ll find a job there? You think I’ll make friends? I’ll just be stuck in a house all day with no one to talk to.”

“You’ll have me, come and we’ll figure this out, together!”

“No. Here I have a job, I have my friends, my small apartment. I cannot leave, there is no chance for me out there. No. We’ll have to see what happens when you come back. If you come back. Though, know this, I’ll be happy for you anyway.”

“Of course I’ll come back. In five years time, on Easter, at our spot, near the castle walls, where they light the fireworks. That’s the deal, right?”

“That’s the deal.”

“See you in five years, then.”

“Not if I see you first, mister.”








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Starfall by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

Friday 12 July 2019

άγγελος

δίχως μια λέξη, μια μυρωδιά,
δίχως ένα σημάδι,
ψάχνω να βρω το χέρι σου,
κλαίγοντας στο σκοτάδι.

ξάφνου, γελώντας,
με παίρνεις αγκαλιά,
και στο αυτί μου λες ψιθυριστά:
¨είναι τα μάτια σου κλειστά.¨






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άγγελος by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

Sunday 23 June 2019

whole

is it more of an orange tree
when it's covered with pearl-white blossoms?

when its fruit is laying on the ground,
ripened and dark,
is it less?















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Alternative title: (in)complete

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Saturday 1 June 2019

Sacrifice

It was a normal spring morning for Anna. She had a shower, done a few house chores, kissed her husband goodbye as he was leaving for work, and now she was getting dressed to go to the market.

‘I wanna come with!’ said the most beautiful creature in the world, her seven-year-old daughter, Julia. She had chosen a bright blue dress and bright blue shoes to match. Her head was a wonderful chaos of large, brown curls, springing from the top and dropping like a fountain down her shoulders. Anna only had eyes for her.

‘You can come with, if you promise to be nice and never leave my side.’

‘Oh-kaay.’

‘Good girl. Come on, let’s go.’

She opened the door and out into the street they went, and soon after that, they reached the central market. The sun, high in the sky, was casting light through the gaps between the tents. A complex mixture of smells reached their nostrils, smells of pollen, dust, fish, and fresh bread, revealing - in part - what was available for purchase. People from all over their little town were there, walking purposefully or talking with each other, just like every morning. They were here to exchange goods and favors, and for the gossip and chit-chat that’s always vital for getting through the day.

‘Good morning, madam Mayor!’

‘Good morning, Sal. Please don’t call me that. I have a name you know.’

‘Good morning, madam Anna!’

‘Better, Sal. You’ll get there, one day.’

‘What would the little lady like today?’ he said, talking to Julia, wearing a merchant’s smile.

‘A melon!’

‘Julia, no. What do we say?’

‘A melon, please!’ she said, just as enthusiastically.

‘We clearly want a melon, Sal’ Anna said with a laugh.

‘Right away, madam Mayor.’

One day, she thought.

It felt like something changed in the atmosphere, and Anna had to look around, trying to figure out what. There was a woman, walking through the market with her head lowered, avoiding eye contact, looking mostly at her feet. And as she walked, whispers followed her every step. The merchants refused her business, she was pushed around as she passed by, mothers keeping away their children. Everyone made a show of not paying attention to her. Except for Anna.

She recognized immediately what was going on. The telltale sign was the woman’s head, that was shaved to the scalp. A classic punishment the law enforcement used on convicted prostitutes. Shaming them, marking them as targets for others to bully around. But Anna hadn’t seen this for a long time, since she was seventeen herself. She thought - she hoped - those times were over.

‘Mom, what’s wrong with the lady? Why is everybody talking about her?’

She crouched down, and looked straight into Julia’s wide, black eyes, trying to hold back the tears welling up in hers.

‘Nothing’s wrong with her, my love.’

‘A lot is wrong with her, if you ask me. And one should be careful not to end up like that’ said Sal, wearing a look of profound wisdom on his face.

‘Don’t listen to him, my love. Nothing’s wrong with her. She’s a woman like you and me. Thank you for the melon, Sal.’ she said, grabbed Julia by the arm, and left in a hurry, angry and frustrated.


It was a special spring morning for Anna. She had a shower, done a few house chores, kissed her husband goodbye as he was leaving for work, and now she was shaving her head with her husband’s razor.

‘Mom, what happened to your hair?’

‘I just liked that girl’s haircut from yesterday, remember?’

‘Yes. I don’t like it.’

‘That’s fine, my love. Not everyone has to have the same haircut. You can choose for yourself. I will go to the market now, be a good girl and read your books until I’m back. I won’t take long, okay?

‘But, I wanna come with!’

‘Not today, my love’ she said, kissing Julia’s forehead.

Her heart pounding in her chest, her hands trembling with the keys, she opened the door and locked it behind her. She could feel the sun and air caressing her skull, a warm, tingly sensation. Then, one slow, deep breath later, she went off to the market.

‘Oh my god, madam Mayor, what happened to you?’

‘Good morning, Sal, what do you mean exactly?’

‘Y...your hair is gone, madam!’

‘Ah, yes, I felt like I needed a change of haircut.’

By then, the information had reached the edges of the market, moving faster than the speed of sound. And now, there was no sound left, everyone standing still, not even pretending to go about their business. Everyone was trying to listen to their discussion, to find out what happened to the mayor’s wife, why her head was shaved. After all, it would soon be the talk of the town, they wouldn’t want to miss out.

‘But, madam, not this haircut for sure. You know what it means.’ he said, almost whispering.

‘No, Sal, what does it mean?’

‘Madam, please, I cannot speak like this in front of you, you understand.’

‘No, Sal, I don’t understand, please explain to me what’s the problem with this haircut’ she said, her eyes fixed on him, stern, her voice a bit louder than before.

‘It means the woman is a convicted prostitute, madam! What will your husband, the mayor, say?’

‘I’m sure he’ll love my new haircut. So, what’s the problem with a woman being a prostitute?’

‘I beg your pardon, madam!’

‘No, Sal, I beg your pardon. A woman prostitute is just a woman that wants to live, like any other. How she chooses to live is her business and hers alone. And if shaving my head will make you, any of you (she says looking around, people’s stares changing direction in the last moment before they meet hers) actually think about this for once, I’d shave it every day until the day I die.’

She took a deep breath, calming herself, and raised her chin a little.

‘Anyway, enough with this talk. Sal, I would like some apples today, please.’

He hesitated for a moment.

‘Yes, madam Mayor. Right away.’


The following morning, much to Anna’s surprise, the town gossip had worked in her favor. Not because there weren’t people who heard about all this and called her an idiot, or a slut even, but because some actually understood. She could count at least ten, maybe fifteen shaved heads around her in the market that day (one of them was a man). And the morning after that, even more chose to come to the market with their heads shaved. And the the next one, until most of them had completed the sacrifice. Until each and every woman could walk the streets with her head shaved and her chin raised with pride. Some couldn’t even tell them apart any more. They were now one.











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Sacrifice by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License