Wolf nights in Bucharest

My demons sleep

quietly under the full moon now,

but other nights

they stalk and howl

like the ghost wolves of Bucharest.

The large boulevards

are as deserted

as many their lights are,

and of all the nights

tonight

with all the remaining Christmas decorations and lit up skylines,

it feels the darkest of all.

Yes,

the city hosts its strangers

and the youngest the children

the more the milk

the greater the need

to undo and become again.

Far from the shiny boulevards,

the sideways

remain true to their darkness

not faking any kind of virtue

not looking for temporary saviours.

The animals

human and other

lick each other's wounds

and carry on

the hunt of the night

before it's too late for apologies

and too early for excuses.

For every battle lost

a soul carrier

takes over,

becoming and rebecoming

never undone

never out of opportunities,

the last hope of the damning and the damned.

The wolves howl

tonight,

the children have been fed

and if you find your way into the city

your soul will rage,

freer and unmatched.

January 2026,

Bucureşti

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Έγκλημα στη Σαμοθράκη

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Κι αν έρθει το φως αργότερα απ' το ξημέρωμα αν έρθει το φως και δεν είσαι εσύ μαζί του, τι φως σκοτεινό θα είναι αυτό; Γενάρης 2025, Αθήνα. Φωτογραφία: Σπιανάδα, Κέρκυρα, Δεκέμβρης 2024.

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Poetic Movements

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