He is born

Rest assured, for He has been born 

the one who created heaven and earth 

the one who saves heaven from this earth.

Chores

The pan's lifted out of the fire
no burnt, the food filling stomachs

the sheets dry with the tinge
of the sweat that lined them for days

the boots all sparkling clear
of the dusk walked over in the streets

there is so much order in the house
where does this silence come from, then?

Bethlehem, a visit

Bethlehem,
here, He was born- a child
there, His Mother breast-fed him, on the road
while our mothers recluse to homes, in comfort.

in a car with a stranger

- Which country held your body, the times your brain was working?
- Soils, with different twisted tongues: one for home, one for elsewhere
I pay my attention to the window, where the nose of the lady meets a setting sun

- The horizon is beautiful
there's a muffed silence in the car, like fog rising
from the dashboard onto the glass

- Why did you reverse your footsteps?
- in what sense is a return a reversal:
reversal denote eraser and who wants to erase their history?

- What is your direction of prayer?
- the same direction of the sun, Eastward,
not a key change if prayer is still kept as a habit

- You sound an awful lot like someone who....
- Got cut out from a rooted tree?
there's a muffed silence in the car, like fog rising

- where is home?
I look from the dashboard to the glass
I close my eyes.

A powerful weekend earthquake

injured thousands,
survivors were at home, asleep

others exposed to the night cold
we need everything, they cried

help, aid, water,
in all our three tongues

footage of rescue workers
offered only condolences

dispatched to those waiting
to be treated

shelter, they said,
had been provided

this is anarchy, how the world ends;
a lack of water

a lack of light
chaos on the roads

help,aid, water,
we need everything, they cried

mud brick can crumple
these days

 fault lines are not our own
so let's revert to historic dust

footage of digging people out
rescue workers offer condolences
and the cold eats what remains of the sky.

prayer

How many times do we have to resort to Orthodox measures
to clear out the air
these unorthodox ways;
the gin in your lap,
the lack of prayer over my lips
this destiny.

a question to the skies

Is it still blue and dull
the sky that receives my open hands
every single day?

Restoring faith

is a long process
the restoration of faith

it means there was a loss somewhere
a tie severed, yet still healing

without glue, plasters or all the stitching needed
for a possible regaining of belief

this is the thing about faith,
the power to believe in invisible wings

shielding your shoulders in big cities in the underground
walking next to you in the small towns,

this is the return of faith
you wear an old jacket that fits just right.

in times of desolation

Locked are the gates of the city
ones only opened by God

those who pray outside the fortified castle
hear the screams of the sinners inside the walls

those who do not pray will not come to understand
that a revelation only comes if you kneel on hard stone

skin in the night, not glowing
prayers never soft or slow

locked are the dates of the city
ones only opened by God

try as you might, the faithful can hear the sinners
murmur under their breath, that only prayer works
in times of desolation, like these minutes.