My friend Ponos has been at war with the earth
ever since Peloponnesos
opened its uncompromising mouth
in an earthquake
and swallowed two children
that were clinging to him for their lives.
Although they were taken
from his Herculean hands
he refused to let them go
and so now he lives
in the ubiquity of trauma.
Is it any wonder then
that he has spent his life
and that he must always take what is his
The earth opens up
whenever he hugs his children
and they find it hard to break free
from his embrace.
When he dances rebetika
he tempts fate
by stomping his black boots
on tectonic plates
and when he kneels
for the painful chorus
he jars his knee between the cracks
reaches into the earths core
for something more than his unanswered prayer
and all I give him
is a glass full of rocks
One night in the early hours of the morning
he hung with Christ on the cross
and cried out to the Father
to spare the lives of two innocent children
and then walked away
aided only by the faint light
of a half moon
hiding behind clouds.
Invisible hands reached out to him
as he buckled himself in,
as he drove home up High Street
and as he combed his fingers
through his wife’s hair in bed
because he could not sleep.
He could not see the invisible hands,
-at least it appeared that way to him-
because he was preoccupied with his own hands,
but it is through the invisible holes in those bleeding hands
that he was looking at his own.
And it is through these bleeding hands
that he, you and I
the ubiquity of love.