I offer here a humble translation of the transcendental closing track of Lena Platonos’ iconic album ‘Gallop‘. I do this to honor the feat of storytelling that many of the pieces on the album represent, as well as the fact she employs imagery which featured in the guided meditation that concluded my very first yoga practice, occurring some eight years ago in Thessaloniki, Greece.
Now, just as a little air lifted, everyone expected these days to be cool. At least that’s what they all said.
Even the lady at the street pavilion made mistakes in her transactions from the excessive heat.
And on the radio they prepare the winter with humour and stability, seriousness,
galloping through and choosing different answers.
You close your eyes. You arrange a date. You close your eyes and dream of different cities. Sparsely populated cities in the night lacking unnecessary sounds whose light emanates from within the people, from the walls of the houses.
A door opens. Someone lifts their hand and their greeting traces the shape of a star,
or rather a moon.
You reciprocate. Slowly many gather, then even more.
They all reciprocate and their greeting traces the shape of a moon
and as they approach one another they are united by that same gallop of the first rain; by the colour of the moon in their own touch.
Yes, and further down there is a couple that have only a moon that they cut in two, biting the half
and again the half, until crumbs are left behind. Until nothingness remains.
But they share even that nothingness as it appears that nothing doesn’t exist.