This poetry collection is a lyrical record of life in the small village of Sklithron (Zeleniche) in Western Macedonia (Greece), and of the journey of emigration to an adopted homeland, Canada. Through memory, place, and longing, these poems honour the people and everyday moments that shaped a generation.
Written by Kosmas Yotis, this collection preserves the voice of village life and the experience of leaving home—carrying the past forward while building a new life abroad.
PROLOGUE
The poems within this website
Aim to capture memories
They create a moment in time
And instill a sense of nostalgia
Those written to remind us
Of other eras
Old friends, old neighbourhoods
And forgotten feelings
To make us laugh and to make us cry
And to shout with joy
This book is also
A reminder of the fact
That when we were growing up
Many of the stories we heard
Were something more than stories
They were lived experiences
From our families
Experiences that shaped
Not only their values
But also their character
As well as
These poems will be
Stories and experiences
That will pass on to the next generation
And help strengthen
The enduring bond Between grandparent and grandchild
When a villager dies— a friend, a parent, or a brother— then we begin to think deeply: why do we quarrel, my friends? The phone rings early— who could it be, who could it be now? The message is a sorrowful one: so-and-so has died today. The news keeps spreading until everyone has heard— another villager is gone from this city. Young and old gather together in the biting cold, to stand before the ...
Death came down from above before the night had fallen. He had no tail—only wings, like a little angel. I said to him, please, I still have much to do— do me this one favour, I do not want to die yet. “Death,” he told me, “of the body is but another beginning for your soul. The two of us will go elsewhere— there lies your eternal life.” I insisted, begged for a delay, to remain a little longer. ...
I cannot see what I have become. Others look at me in wonder, while I believe I have remained the same through all that has passed. And when we say our farewells, and eat the wheat, we all begin to wonder— who will be taken next?
In this temporary life we live, God traced for us a way: One passes through it light and swift, Another like a storm-tossed day. And though your start seems light and fast, Never let humility depart; Let your path remain the proper one, For gratitude must guide the heart. In the tempest of this life, Never lose your courage strong, So you may yet be freed from harm Before the wreck should come ...
If I could ever write Two beautiful songs, They would be for the ones I admired— Those two beautiful flowers. I would caress them every morning Before I went to work, And like a bird in flight They gave me wings. And in the evening when I returned With tired wings, They ran to me and I held them close, And I flew from joy. And when spring arrived And they opened their petals, The bees circled ...
It was the month of July, The grandchildren had come, Their little tents were set up, Their fingers were on fire. Each one sat in a corner, Talking electronically, And every now and then they laughed. One was making tweets, The other going beep-beep, Texting from here, Tweeting from there. Their little heads were down, Their little fingers on fire, Not a word could be heard. I tried to ask them ...
If I were crystal water In little golden channels, So you could wash your white neck, My five-times beautiful gardenia. So you could wash your face, Your golden-blond hair, You would make the sun grow dim With all your beauty. If only you would let me Caress your golden hair, If only I could enchant you As your beauty enchants me. To be grafted like a young shoot Deep within your heart, So I too ...
Beneath the blooming almond tree, In the cool breath of spring, Upon silken sheets Anthoula was sleeping. She slept and she was dreaming— Three young lads Danced all around her, Wooing her with love. The first one gave her A blooming branch And a little ornament. The second gave her A gold coin And a golden ring. The third one whispered in her ear— He had no ornament to give. He bent down softly ...
We write about the past Because we don’t know the future The present goes fast And this...we have to nurture As I remember my parents They had so much to tell I was so busy with my errands So much behind I fell Now I have the time They are not here to ask The memory they left behind Will be my only task That’s way I am writing These precious lines in brief Now is time for binding Because time is ...
Christmas as I remember Long long time ago Those cold days in December With fresh fallen snow The church bells would chime And echo throughout the village The sun rays would shine We felt we were so privileged I had my mother and father My two sisters and me Baba Kata our grandmother I felt like I was in my high We got no Christmas presents We had no Christmas tree We had each others presence ...
