Let the Good Times Roll

The best way to feel is to not feel at all. At least that’s how it seems when you’re in the deep end, gasping for air. Try as you might, there is no way to free your mind.

The rebels of the world fight for peace, holding doves above the skies of blindfolded eyes. They ask them to dream, “Do you dream?”

“I can see the way you see, but the question always is, has always been, can you see the way I see?”

Let us stop fooling ourselves, we don’t picture the world in butterflies and unicorns. The luckiest of us get away with just a bruise or two, but for the most of us it’s far more worse. Absence of heart is the way you get hurt.

So take my advice, if you want to make it out alive. Let things roll as they come and go. There is no way to control, I’m letting you know, there is no way to control. Not a person, nor a place, not your tomorrow, never your today. I can’t have what I always want, and that’s okay, I guess. On most days, when the spoiled child cranking up inside has had it’s chocolate for the day. Yes, life is tough, and we do cry over spilled milk, but please grow up. It’s time for us to step into responsibility with a sense of youth. I would never ask you to age, for God’s sake. Please, do play.

But most of all, I do pray, you fall in love with everything around you.

© Nicoletta

📷: Yosemite National Park, California

Victorious 

Some people are fearless, as if they were born to create the most bizarre, crazy story and say “this was my life”. My grandma is one of those people, born on a day like this one 75 years ago. I was the only grandchild blessed to be named after her, Niki is Greek, meaning “the victory of the people”…And how I wish the legend of victorious spirit lives on not only in my family, but in yours and theirs so that one day we all wake up and say what a powerful, fearless warrior I AM! Let us all celebrate the Niki in us today and in all days to come. 

©Nicoletta

Agios Sozomenos 

Over the healing hills of Agios Sozomenos my grandpa Antonis would stand with binoculars for a chance to get a glimpse of his village Tymbou. Now part of the turkish occupied area, everything that once belonged to him and his family were lost…only left in blurry images to be viewed at a distance. The house my grandparents Antonis and Nikki had built, now belonged to someone else, the land still ripe with fruit now picked by foreign hands…but let us not dwell in the past. Let us start at the very beginning…the magic. Before Antonis was born, his father Demetrios owned very little, so little that his family had barely anything to eat. These were poor times, where people were forced to survive out of hard work and determination. Demetrios invested in farmland in his village Tymbou but the land proved barren and dry. Day and night he prayed for a miracle, yet nothing seemed to change. Despite it all Demetrios never gave up, his iron will always pushed him forward. One morning, while digging in the land, Demetrios stumbled upon something strange. It was a wooden frame, when he turned it over it was a silver-plated icon of Saint Marina. It looked very old, almost 100 years old or so. A strong believer in the mystical, he brought the icon back home as he took it as a good omen. That night, he had a vivid dream, a woman dressed in white spoke to him telling him to plant cotton in the land and that it would soon turn to gold, in return she wanted him to build a church in her honor. A few weeks went by…everything in a constant standstill, Demetrios prayed to Saint Marina and asked for help as he decided to plant cotton in the fields. In the coming months a miracle happened, the land prospered in cotton…leading to Demetrios receiving profit…business flowed so well that he soon hired employees of his own…leading to him buying more acres of land…leading to him practically owning most of the land in the village and becoming the richest man in Tymbou. He hired people with the kindness of his heart, offering them a stable pay and even food for their families. And in the land, the first piece of land he bought he built a church in the name of Saint Marina, a home for the icon he had found. This was a church later known as a miracle giver, people would pray to the Saint and give her offerings as she performed their miracles. My grandpa Antonis and his brothers inherited the land when his father Demetrios passed over, and kept it in prosperous conditions as they also had the charm of hard work, blessed with the gift of kindness. In 1974 everything was lost after the war but what surprises me the most is that my grandpa never ever lost his smile. It still shines bright to this day, his face is one of gratitude and grace. 

© Nicoletta 

Face of the Sun

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I felt her roots firmly ground me,

Morning dew

Washing the pain away.

She shied her power

With a humble smile at the Sun.

 

The light on her face

Healing forests afar,

A single seed of hers

Greeting seven generations to come.

 

© Nicoletta

 

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

 

 

Photo by @hellenmangseth: Norway

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Skye

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Tears roll down my chin
Like the raindrops on my window.
How to describe this beauty
Oh Lord
I try my best to sink it all on paper.
The fairies song
Ring my heart awake
As I stare at endless green
Above me
Below me
Turning all around me.
I am the greenness of this place
The greenness is me.
The higher the hill
The freer my breath rises.
My soul redeemed
In the shelter of each turn.
My head rests
On the comfort of sheep coat.
My body unravels
The mysteries of endless castles.
My eyes fly in the arms of raven wings.
My feet ground roots into the earth
Becoming one with it.
I am forever this land
And this land is forever me.

 

© Nicoletta

 

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

 

Photo by Nicoletta: Isle of Skye, Scotland

Song: Lost Patrol- Big Country

Oh, Mother

Mother-Earth

In your hands I call the pain
To succumb to the tears
Of your rainfalls.
Oh, Mother
Forgive us
For what we have done.
Thousands of years
You have made this home.
And what have we done in return?

Mother, I breathe your air
In gratitude.
I bend down on two knees
As I thank you
For your trees.
I thank you
For all the blessings you have filled
In this beautiful land of yours.

Green and blue I worship you.
Mother, your grace
Joining us with the power of love.
Are we too blind to see
All that you have left us
Out in the open?

Mother, forgive me
For not praising you sooner.
The days birthing
My eyes awake
How could I have missed
That my skin and bones
Are one and the same as yours?

I thank you once again
And a million times more
For waking me up.
Mother, shake them all from slumber
To see how alive you truly are.

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© Nicoletta

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

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