They say, the dead in their first forty days
wander around in places they've lived.
In which edge of the world should I go cry?
Where is the homeland for a seagull like you -
Smyrne, Mytilene, Athens, Genova?
People will live, makes no difference
with or without you.
It's just the how it hurts.
I sit in my own country's heart
with my sadness next to me,
seas away, thousands of minutes' cry
from what you would call family.
My will to see you rapes me.
Your body is getting burned
to make sure horizons will no longer meet.
I only promised Luciana
her favourite fiori to wipe her tears away.
Marilou Chrysochoidou for Brand Magazine, Issue 03, Spring/Summer 2008