Six one-line drawings, from the first book of Zoe Savina "Nuances" 1997, and six unpublished poems of Zoe Savina.


"I never erase a line, even if I'm not pleased with it. I proceed with the subsequent one until I reach the final form of my drawing...", Moustakas says.



And I, thinking that you had left

I coiled under the eucalyptus

to resemble you,

smoothing down all your escapades.

Oh, my moon! You've gone white! Are you aged

or shining silver-gilt

with your wand,

dominating over waters and, as you think, me?

I am in red, hidden and beating drums

occasionally at night and you cannot find me and

occasionally submerged

with the tips of my toes and

making watery sounds

amongst mating swans

- while it would be more correct

if you sweetened distances.

It is a great pity that we be so far away

when we are advised by stars' lamps - fires

I dread you are not going to see me again

-I'll become powder like your silver dust,

baffling you in your thinking I belong to you.

       “ Flows”,  Indian Ink 0.35 x 0.50



.. and as rose

has thorns, beauty and its thirty petals draped

so does my pain have a feather swallow

pushing under the auspices of temporariness

and a vermillion stallion

with teeth in between its gold reins.

My love has sugar from small swords

as though sharpened on blazed coals

and rending the hands of my pen.


from where does the silken cloth begin?

The folds on the peak of the body

unwinding their frozen care

while the angel of fire,

like being in the ecstasies of a flash

in the cosmos,

lies on the floor

-an empty garment

and lower than that

in another land.

       “Thorn moon”, One-line drawings, 0.35 x 0.50 Indian Ink




       “Underworld's hammocks”, India Ink 0.35Χ0.50


Oh Morpheus

guitarist of dreams

play for me to hear

the future coming vehemently,

I'm waiting

the joker

to bloom my dream.

You play, play my heart,

pushing to guard me

like a dragon

for my great boldness

to talk about

Eros in the haze

prevailing round.

Do come

and I will lick

your expectation

like syrup

from my lips.



You play, play my heart,

pushing to guard me

like a dragon

for my great boldness

to talk about

Eros in the haze

prevailing round.











       “By night”, Indian Ink 0.35Χ0.50




...obsession persists..

Yes, it is not about a false excess:

reality invades in plain clothes

appeasing as if the fissure

took its last opening..

Reality is so many times

faster than my symbolisation.

At the moment I wanted to lull the wind

in my frenzy to shut the metopes of rhythm,

the fissure took the hue of panic

like a naked body

in the eyes of a stealthy glance

and unless I assimilate a concept

of excessiveness, my head

will slip backwards

harkening the universe

like the earth harkens death.

  "Blossom”, India Ink 0.35 x 0.50



       “Outside the buds”, India Ink 0.35Χ0.50


It is intolerably late that you drop out when

cities, belfries and blossomed

almond trees are being filled, odours penetrate through drape,

longing comes

in handfuls

and small mirrors multiply

my figure's red complexion,

filling knolls with stings.

Passion bounces

and the tramp of your heart

asks the never-drying fruits of paradise.

This picture may be

a fabricated dream

with water snakes

and wet nightly plinths