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Για την Ευαγγελία μου..

I closed my eyes and prayed to God today,
I asked what makes a Mother and I know I heard him say,
A Mother has a baby, this we know is true,
But God can you be a Mother when your baby’s not with you?,
“Yes you can!”, he replied with confidence in his voice,
“I give many women babies, when they leave its not their choice,
Some I send for a lifetime and others just for a day,
And some I send to fill your womb but there’s no need to stay.”

I don’t understand this God, I want my baby here,
He took a breath and cleared his throat and then I saw a tear,
I wish I could show you what your child is doing today,
If you could see your child smile with the other children and say,

“We go to earth to learn our lessons of love and life and fear,
my mommy loved me oh so much I got to come straight here.
I feel so lucky to have a mom who had so much love for me,
I learned my lesson very quick. My mommy set me free,
I miss my mommy oh so much but I visit her everyday,
When she goes to sleep, on her pillow is where I lay,
I stroke her hair and kiss her cheek and whisper in her ear,
Mommy don’t be sad today, I’m your baby and I’m here.”

So you see my dear sweet one, your children are ok,
Your babies are here in my home and this is where they’ll stay,
They’ll wait for you with me until your lesson is through,
And on that day that you come Home they’ll be at the gates for you.
So now you see what makes a Mother,
It’s the feeling in your heart
It’s the love you have so much of, right from the very start....

ΘΕΛΩ ΝΑ ΧΤΙΣΩ ΕΝΑ ΣΠΙΤΑΚΙ

Θέλω να χτίσω ένα σπιτάκι
στη μοναξιά και στη σιωπή.
Ξέρω μια πράσινη ραχούλα...
Δε θα το χτίσω εκεί.

Ξέρω στη χώρα τη μεγάλη
τον πλούσιο δρόμο τον πλατύ,
με τα παλάτια και τους κήπους...
Δε θα το χτίσω εκεί.

Ξέρω το πρόσχαρο ακρογιάλι,
όλο το κύμα το φιλεί,
κρινόσπαρτη είναι η αμμουδιά του...
Δε θα το χτίσω εκεί.

Ατέλειωτη τραβάει μια στράτα,
σκίζει μια χέρσα απλοχωριά,
σκληρά τη δέρνει το αγριοκαίρι
κι ο λίβας τη χτυπά.

Μια στράτα χιλιοπατημένη,
τον καβαλλάρη νηστικό,
τον πεζοδρόμο διψασμένο
θάφτει στον κουρνιαχτό.

Εκεί το σπίτι μου θα χτίσω
με μια βρυσούλα στην αυλή,
πάντα η γωνιά του θα καπνίζει
κι η θύρα του θα 'ναι ανοιχτή.

Παλαμάς