Social Waste

I will head like the old man Winter
To the tops of Mountain Heliconas
Not to hear noise and chaos
Being alone, playing the bagpipes

I wanted once to escape from fate
I wanted to travel, not to leave
But in the world’s all the heights and depths
Something from Kavafi’s city, is chasing me
And that’s how my gait, moved me
In the metropolises of the world
greedily sucked culture and history
from horizon’s four points
And then I found myself in London
Hazy rain, no appetite to stay
Milan, Montreal, Nueva York and Rome
Istanbul, Ankara, Marseille and many more to see
Universities, job, money, degrees
But always something missing from the story
All well Ii found a chick and a home
But how is called “glendi” in Madrid
Furthermore, the “thou” don’t like them
And nobody will understand my raps
So I will spend the century
As the old man winter

I will head like the old man Winter
To The tops of Mountain Heliconas
Not to hear noise and chaos
Being alone, playing the bagpipes

Living in a town, with gray landscapes
with no harmony and no rhythm
Deep inside me feeling primitive instincts
when I’ gazing mountaintops with haze
Forest full of strange creatures
who have the knowledge in white sorcery
Like mirages in gold moonlight,
like mist in the heavy winters
I melt inside me because of the cement routine,
I see gray walls when I pull the curtain
Always strange and miserable people that they
only move by cars and forgot to walk.
And I miss all the ridges, the mountain passes
And the stone bridges of Epirus
Shepherd’s caves on Psiloritis mountain and many more miracles
Like the fairies at the beaches of Skyros
And always I think to head to the mountains
As a captain in a guerrilla life
Like the winter to haze mountain tops
and my breath to make the bag sing

I will head like the old man Winter
To The tops of Mountain Heliconas
Not to hear noise and chaos
Being alone, playing the bagpipes