Nikos Moshovos

The Game

The Quintessence of the moment remains.
Nothing else.
Neither the tears from your eyes
nor the laughter of the childhood.
No hartred frightens you
if love looks you in the eyes.
Occasionally through the centuries
it is the game that determines.
The Act went by
it became a distant fog,
memory of the unsaid images
treasured up in the chest of the heart.
The Joy of the moment remains.
When little Janus sings
nobody listens to the hymn.
What he left behind is what was left behind
Nothing else through the centuries
it is the game that determines.
A trivial mask he wears
he’s not scared of its shell.
Alien arrows, unrecognizable paths
forgotten in the oblivion of the past
Emotion dead.
Absolute Zero, the times goes by.
Dreams of seashores, illusory paintings
Recorded in the book of his memory.
He only seeks one Word
in the eternity he aims
like a faraway star he illuminates
it is the game that determines.