“Between the crossroards of East and West we forget, we are consumed, and we are altered - without shame or remembrances, we move forward unyieldingly.”
Epigraph of What We Know But Do Not Say
Our Island Wails. Can you hear her?
Unbearable pain, Atlastean weight, and silent screams of a fructured land that bleeds shadows from the past.
How many times have you looked - truly looked - at the rubble around Limassol?
Each stone, each pebble and each place tells a story long forgotten by most; unfortunately, our hindsight allows our eyes to only see the skyscrapers that overshadow our truth. This consequently leads to our Cypriot mentality of keeping quiet about the past glories, whilst blabbering about the gloominess of today.
Unbeknownst to us, we feed our rancor with a spoiled perspective about our heritage, neglecting to admit the sunlight side.
That is my belief. And without that explosion of pained rage none of the poems contained within this collection would ever be written or thought of.
