How oxymoronic does it seem to look for Paths of Oblivion in poetry by indelibly carving with words the moments you would like to forget so they don't get lost in the passage of time?
It almost seems like madness... But this is the magic of poetry... to find the way, to carve out the path and to ease the pain.
In the wee hours of the night
Between eternal minutes of absolute non-existence
The only existence felt and painful is You…
I count the moments, but they seem to me to be lost
I collect lifeless objects, broken memories
I'm doing them, I'm taking them in my hands
With severely torn legs that look like bent branches
I run into my cloudy abyss…
The moments that fortified the past I seek to exorcise
Those small but so ecstatic hours at night...
No one hears the heartbreak of a wounded predator
The murmur of a silent lament
I open my arms and leave in the clearing of a fake cliff
The mess!
No one hears, no one sees!
"Valia dares with her poetry to talk about all that torments us, writing verses "for us" through "us". Exuberant in emotion, tenderness and sensitivity, her "I" becomes ours too... and like a light, she spreads her passion to those who travel with her, reading her poems."
Konstantinos Bakolas
Philologist
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