Costas Komborozos

The Voices of Marble Monuments Costas Komborozos

I am not ready to drink from Lethe's stream. I am not ready to join those who drank from the stream and begun their new existence of shades, as spirits of forgetfulness. Unloving oblivion gazes upon me. But I am not ready. I am not ready to forget nor to be forgotten. I am not ready to forget the battlefields that filled my earthly existence. I want to remember. I am a blade breaking and mending in the span of a shortly sweetened breath. The rivers of the world converging in a single euphoric sea. Rivers unlike the ones coursing deep in the underworld. I drift inside the sparkling sea that reminds me of how I moved without eyes and ears to guide me. A sea utterly devoid of dimension. A sea without rims and shores. I have raced to the deepest depths of infinity. My name appears, but then vanishes. Speak, historian. The Ionian storyteller weaves a story, telling the story of history. He hears the sound of oceans colliding, and all the battlefields come roaring back into my most recent memory. The oceans recede. I tread upon the silence of the world's memory again. I am a memory pulsating in the world's memory.