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These poems are by Yolanda Koumidou, from her works of poetry entitled Kimmatisti mou Zoe or My Wavy Life, (Cyprus, 1991), and Poems by Yolanda Koumidou, (New York, 1993).

What can I write?
Words are unconstructable
Thoughts cannot be compiled
Utterances cannot be expressed
What type of poem can I write for you?
Since you, my son, are the poem.
The most perfect poem which has ever been borne
from my soul.

Course of Life
This course of life
is not meant to be walked.
Set sail.

Broken Shackles
I broke free from my shackles
but the hands
still remain numb.

Promenading in Deserted Roads
I doubt the moon noticed
how exquisite she looks tonight
and she promenades
in deserted roads.

Fooling Myself
It's easy to fool
but my verse, never!

The flame
that vehemented into blazes
has now dwindled to a flicker
in the suspended oil lamp.

To Murray Bowen
I'm waiting. I'm waiting for the day
when looking in the mirror
familial reflections
remain in picture-frames.

Such hard company to keep.
And yet, only through you
I get closer to me.

The Window is opening
to Fog again...

Understanding You
The more
I understand You
the quieter I get.

No Choice
When I was Blind
I had no choice.
Now that I See
I have less.
I even see
which I do not want to look at!

"Open your heart"
You say to me;
and yet,
my mind cannot find the Key.
"Of course not!
Your heart holds it
so she can unlock herself".

A Conversation with God
-When will I begin living in my House?
Renting rents me homeless.
God, help me find the road to my House.
-I never stopped showing you!
But every station, you treat as destination,
you get lost.
When you do get a glimpse of It
you let in crowds.
I Am with you in your House.
Close the Door.
Visit through your Windows.
Be careful who you let in.
This is sacred ground.
This is My House.

A Simple Relationship
You are asking for a simple relationship!
What is wrong with you?
Even being alone
is never simple.

The Parade
I sit in silence.
I close my eyes.
I fold my hands.
My intention: to surrender to Him.
But suddenly,
the inner meditator transformed into a single spectator.
A spectator to a Parade.
The Grand Marshall,
my inner organizer
holding banners with lists and lists
of my unfinished plans and tasks and dreams.
Others follow holding posters
featuring yesterday's events:
what I said
how I said it
what I should have said instead
The Parade concludes
with my inner critic chanting her favorite mantra:
"You failed to meditate correctly once again!"
"You failed to meditate correctly once again!"
So, I readjust my posture,
I sit in silence with closed eyes and folded hands.
This time with no intention,

© Copyright 11-2002 Yolanda Koumidou -All Rights Reserved


I said to the almond tree,
"Sister, speak to me of God."
And the almond tree blossomed.

– Franciscan Haiku
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all
Even if they‚re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture.
Still treat each guest honorably,
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
– Rumi
As you set out for Ithaka hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - don‚t be afraid of them:
you‚ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon - you won‚t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind-
as many sensual perfumes as you can,
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.
Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But do not hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years;
so you are old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.
Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her, you would not have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.
And if you find her poor, Ithaka won‚t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.
– Kostas Kavafis
"One of the most widespread superstitions is that
every man has his own special, definite qualities,
that a man is kind, cruel, wise, stupid, energetic, apathetic, etc..

Men are not like that...
Men are like rivers
The water is the same in each, and alike in all.

But every river is narrow here, is more rapid there, here slower,
there broader, now clear, now cold, now chill, now warm.

It is the same with men.
Every man carries in himself the germs of every human quality
and sometimes one manifests itself and sometimes another,
and the man often becomes unlike himself
while still remaining the same man."
– Leo Tolstoy
"When I come to Love, I am ashamed of all that I have ever said about Love"
– Rumi

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