every time you touch
someone’s heart
kindly
carefully
with permission
you make a safe space
a very small one
the trick is
all these small safe spaces
connect
you feel it when you meet
a friend of a friend
for the first time
and it’s clear that the
outside
doesn’t feel safe yet
but step by step
and touch by touch
we’ll make it so
______
safe by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License
why
are the nights
you come and go
lonelier
than the nights
I spend
alone
?
______
four a.m. by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License
crossing the street from opposite sides,
we saw the same car
rushing our way.
I took a step onto its path,
without a second glance.
you looked at it,
then looked at me,
and took a step back.
______
privilege by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License
μόνο οι στιγμές που νιώθεις ελεύθερος μετράνε.
τις άλλες
κάνεις υπομονή.
______
πασιέντζα by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License
why does the image of myself
depend so much on others?
do I need an ‘impartial’ judge?
do I need a judge?
I clearly do.
you cannot win if there’s no race.
but, why win?
it didn’t make me happy before.
it made me numb.
it’s stress up to the race,
then it’s the race,
which doesn’t feel like much
- adrenaline maybe?
and then it’s this small gap,
between the end of the race
and the beginning of a new one,
where maybe,
sometimes,
I breathe.
I need to breathe more.
______
a rat or a horse by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License
αναζητώντας για μέρες
μια στιγμή που δεν έχεις σημαδέψει,
επιτέλους, κατάλαβα.
______
αναγνώριση by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License
he was already swimming,
in the early summer sea,
feeling more refreshed with every stroke.
she had just left her clothes at the beach
and was coming to meet him,
no sounds around them but the waves,
the sun setting patiently in the background.
“well, nice!
you sure look better than before,” he said.
“I guess the fitness training you’ve been doing
is starting to pay off.”
“I’m also happier now,” she replied,
and dipped her head in the water,
keeping it in as much as possible,
letting the cool waters wash away
a week’s worth of fatigue.
“well, that doesn’t mean much, does it?
you could be less happy in five minutes,
or even sad,
but you’ll still be as fit as you are now.
fitness is something concrete,
measurable,
happiness is… meh,” he waved his arm in the air,
indicating something cloudy,
insubstantial.
“sure, but, feeling my body healthier,
feeling a stronger connection to it,
really makes me happier!
you can’t measure it,
ok, I get that,
but it’s still true!”
“sure, sure, that’s great.
now, listen,
I’ve made this new measure,
which includes the fastest lap
you can do in the swimming pool,
and your blood oxygen levels
and…”
she had wandered off near some rocks,
and was watching intently
at the tiniest crab she had ever seen.
it was bravely fighting against the waves,
going three steps to the right,
then being pushed 2 steps back again.
the poor crab would make it, eventually,
she was sure of it.
“..., and in this metric I’ve reached twelve now,
but when I started I was only doing about eight,
so that’s a huge improvement,” he kept on,
not missing a beat.
“and you also seem happier now,” she replied,
staring at the seagulls that were circling them from high above,
white touches of light in the purple, darkening sky.
“I’m really glad.”
______
immeasurable by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License
sometimes I remember Mr. Light.
he was the kind, silent type,
slightly older than most recruits,
but doing his time patiently like the rest of us.
it was rare to find Mr. Light arguing,
or expressing a strong opinion;
he mostly listened,
and kept to himself.
there was something delicate
and soft
about his silence,
like a pillow, or a teacup:
impossible to cause any harm.
it’s easy to forget a person like that.
someone that neither excited
nor annoyed you.
and I expect I’d have forgotten all about him by now,
if it wasn’t for a single discussion we had,
a week before he got his leave from the army.
he said there were two things he was looking forward to,
once he got out.
the first was the marathon.
it was his dream to be able to run the full marathon,
and he was training the whole year for it.
I’m sure he did great.
the second was going back to the village where he grew up.
there was his childhood home there,
waiting for him,
if he wanted it.
but there was also a friend.
a friend he hadn’t spoken to for quite some time.
a friend that,
at some point,
had been much more than that.
and Mr. Light hoped,
and hoped,
and hoped so hard and for so long,
that it was starting to leak through him.
you could see his hands tremble
and his eyes water as he talked about it,
you could almost smell the excitement and fear,
almost hear his heart pound faster.
he hoped so much he couldn’t stand hoping any more,
that his friend might be there,
like his childhood home,
waiting.
it’s hard to guess if he deserved it,
but even so,
I hope he got a chance
to make things right.
______
going home by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License
the other day
I was on Lycabettus hill with a friend,
the sun keeping us warm
against an early spring breeze.
as we were walking up the hill,
I recognized something,
a hidden branching of the path,
barely noticeable.
I followed it immediately,
dragging the poor friend along,
and ended up in a small nook
between the hill and the trees,
near the main path but invisible to it.
“The perfect hookup spot,”
as you once called it,
all these years ago,
when you brought me here.
and it really used to be
“the perfect hookup spot”
as it used to have
right in the middle of that secluded area
an old, slightly bent,
park bench.
a park bench we honored
the only way we could:
by desperately making out on it,
while keeping an ear out
for any footsteps coming our way.
that singular park bench,
touched by so many,
before and after us,
was now gone.
and as we were heading back down the hill
I already knew what needed to be done.
we need a park bench here,
a strong one,
made of iron or granite,
so that couples can come again,
to be alone together,
to make out,
to heat up, moisten that bench,
keep it alive till the end of time.
because we need this,
that burst of heat and excitement
as two people come together
forgetting every part
of the world around them,
that’s the spark of life.
isn’t it?
______
another park bench by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License