She, the Moon on a Pond

She swims in the pond of driving desires

Deep and vast as it is.

Deep and vast as the skin and the touch

She praises and folds ’round another.


Enchanted, the moon wraps her light,

Plump and round as it is.

Plump and round as her mind, in flow,

Releases the body’s desire.


Her and the moon draw the thin string

Perilous and tender it is.

Perilous and tender as the love in the stars

That so easily never could be.


The moon on a pond, illuminates her –

Loving and gentle she is.

Loving and gentle as the line that she draws

Shimmering brightly for those who can see.

A translation of Gallop (Γκάλοπ) by Lena Platonos (Λένα Πλάτωνος)

Dear reader,

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.




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 humor and stability,

Galloping through
And choosing different answers.

You close your eyes,
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;
The color of the moon of 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.

Maybe that’s why the light emanates from them so.

An ode to Berlin lovers / to be casual

To touch and kiss,
To hold and gasp,
Feeling bodies,
Humming souls,
Is to be casual.

To be causal yet not deny
The kindled current shooting
From you to me and me to you
Through bodies tightly pressed.

To repeat the weak intention,
To talk of lovers queued,
Reiterating frail assurance,
Is to be casual.

To be casual and sense
A cowardice of painful break
Splintered under press,
Reduced to mere pretense
Of being casual.