Beginning smells ending, and vice versa
The begging of time now over. The wings
Now folded into neat squares, now tucked
Under the bed next to dreams.
A different begging now begins.
All the cruel months and the anathemas
And the wetting of the bed with tears and
The single kiss and the pair of lips and
The regret. The regret. Of folding the wings
Before they burned. The fear of too soon
Is the fear of fear.
What smells is the dessert
Or the desert. What is served on a silver platter?
A dream beheaded. A head dreamed.
A vowel? Even
The new wings announced. New,
As in shiny. New, as in unborn.
Something about the girl who use to jump from
Pool of rainwater to pool of rainwater, with no umbrella
In her hand, makes the downward motion of rain,
Irony. Before motion, before emotion, a couple
Sat alone together, sipped a latte, left too early
To be late for dinner.
The baton was passed to the moon.
The light dimmed.
The boy with a book as hands couldn’t understand
The meaning of the verse & he read again
About the girl who use to jump from pool of rainwater
To pool of rainwater, with no umbrella in her hand.
The baton was passed to the sun.
The light simmered.
The boy with a book as hands understood
That like the girl who use to jump from pool of rainwater
To pool of rainwater, with no umbrella in her hand,
The verse jumps from line to line, with no meaning.
Christos Kallis, born in Larnaca, Cyprus, is currently studying for his undergraduate degree in English Literature at the University of Glasgow. He is active in the English and American poetry scene, and he is always trying to broaden his network. Recently his poems have appeared / are forthcoming in the London Journal of Fiction, Stoneboat, The Hartskill Review, Sunset Liminal, Prole, Lunar Poetry, among others.
A formal website is under construction, but Christos is most active on: '