Like a lake, thirsty
for the water that’s been taken from it.

Like an engine that broke down,
leaving me stranded
with nothing to eat.

Like this—
stripped from my poetic voice,
stripped from the ability to write.

I feel trapped inside my head,
drowning
in my own will to write.

Like an artist standing before a white canvas,
stroking the brush
without paint.

Like me,
sitting at my desk,
side by side
with the bin—
full of pieces of paper,
plain.

Μαρία Τσιρογιάννη