The seagull poet is flying,
Hovering about everlasting moments
Hovering about silver sparkles,
Hanged in the air,
Watching precisely below.
All of a sudden, he swoops down;
By dipping his head
In the light blue nostalgia,
He pecks at live portion of eternity.
By Takis Pierrakos
As we didn΄t manageTo dedicate excellent poetry to each other,As we didn΄t manageTo paint the
He strikes the chisel with the hammerAnd counting.Hesitations and certaintiesAre reflected on the materiality.Every time
The horizon is hidden by waves;Above, the chief wins waySurveying everythingLike a scorching spy,We are
Drop by drop and secretlyThe unpermitted pleasureIs instilledIn the vains of the brave.Lost in the
