Poems - Vaso Papa

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Poems

A collection of 16 posts

Haunting Death

The alluring song of the nightingale a riddling needle through my wretched heart, awakened memories of a fancy tale when we lived together in harmony and trusted we would never drift apart. But fate, along with death, played a cruel ploy where the reaper lurked in a dark corner, agonizing

Tabula Rasa

Lofty snowflakes embracing Black Earth disguise it in white innocence. A cold memento brings childhood back to Life— vividly. Laughing, playing, rolling in the snow. The sound keeps blowing up old memories. White on black. Child on Earth. ©2026, Vasiliki Papadopoulou

Severe Reverie

Peace embraces the morning dust, holding fast the blind trust before sunrise awakes and pours its bright light upon the sleeping mind. Awakening comes heavy, severe— a lingering ache that will not clear while stillness holds the man in rest, deep in tranquil reverie— an unmoving guest, untouched by fear.

Jinxed Hero

He sailed across a vast sea to fight and destroy in that most fierce and glorious war in Troy. His pride and wit became his fatal blight he provoked the gods to get their wrath, condemned by them to wander in the night. For twenty years to roam in the

Everlasting Love

Everlasting Love

I thought your love would prove an endless art, deep-rooted in the chamber of your heart; yet mind and soul were torn and pulled apart in that harsh tug-of-war of mere surviving. Since the rules of love are constantly breaking, a promise given by a lion’s

Beneath the Ancient Oak

Beneath the Ancient Oak

Devoutly, I spent my last precious days beneath a vast and ancient oak, chanting ballads warm and pure as light haunting that scaled high horizons, questing new ways. I shut my eyes and dive in heaven’s bays, swimming along, my being transforming— young again, cheerful, old friends embracing, as

Motionless Words

Motionless Words

Black words on white paper, motionless, senseless, stranded there staring at their creator who’s lost in theories of stuck old doctrines, trying to scrub his brain clean, and find enlightenment again. But delusion rules over him, dictating the path from mind to hand. So the creator cannot resist— he

A Conversation With Love

A Conversation With Love

Once, I asked Love. “Why do you hate me?” She returned, surprised: “My poor dear, why this kind of question?” I said, “You never comfort my tortured heart and soul." And Love replied: “I torment your spirit to help you thrive, so you can embrace— true Love when it

Picture: Credit to Lugi Boccardo, Unsplash.com.

Fallen Angel

Thus, I drifted downward with the current in a single harmony, and then suddenly― she appeared upon a bridge like a fallen angel. Her gaze cast me down, and I shuddered. Never had I seen such a gaze, so full of torment so full of infinite love. At once, a

The Spring within the Soil

The Spring within the Soil

The world is burning in wild flames. So are our homes and our souls, turning into ashes. Our tears pour down in heavy torrents, falling onto black soil. Still, there’s a hope like a flashing light that— maybe one day— this blackness returns, back into green life. ©2026, Vasiliki

LifeStyle

There’s a style nowadays, they call it life, that brushes off the old grace it once held with a proud face, a high-flying flag of modesty, guilt and respect. But life grew bored with their weight craved a sharper breeze, cleared every fence and old restriction, free from

The Old Radio

My cherished song plays all day long on the old radio, tucked in the corner many moons ago inside my sacred shelter. So I dance, like in trance, to shake off all my shrouds, to scatter all brooding clouds that drift and twist above my little world. ©2026, Vasiliki Papadopoulou

Grief

My love stands waiting in the bitter cold outside your window sealed tight as a tomb it guards you— a priceless secret from me who longs to hold you safe. My forehead pressed against the glass, drenched in rain and cold grief while this love will not die still refuses

Paper Wings

Paper wings rose high drunk on desire into the vault of heaven where the sun shines, wild and kingly, sweeping them away into illusions and futile hopes, until the final fall when they become ahses and fade into nothingness. ©2026, Vasiliki Papadopoulou

Azure's Garden

In Azure’s garden white clouds bloom, scattering innocent silhouettes in frolic, fleeting dance and play carefree, they drift and melt away woven softly in the blue tapestry until they fade like silent ghosts and vanish from the endless sky. ©2026, Vasiliki Papadopoulou

The Wounds Become Wildflowers

The Wounds Become Wildflowers

Bruises bloom across my soul wild taking hold— mercilessly, in every hidden facet life so flawlessly masquerades as lifelong gifts. Time drifts on through joy and pain, still the bruises flower under the silver rain painting dazzling colors across the ache. Until one day the wounds become wildflowers deep-rooted,