Xanthi Hondrou-Hill (Greece)

Xanthi Hondrou-Hill (Greece)
Xanthi Hondrou-Hill is a Greek Poetess, who studied German Literature and Linguistics, Journalism and Public Relations Management, in Stuttgart, Germany. She has worked as a multi-lingual teacher, journalist, public relations manager and translator for poetry. She is writing poetry since high school and her poems have been published in many prestigious media and international anthologies around the world.
She has worked as Public Relations Manager organising many poetry events, in cooperation with local municipality, archaeological secretary of the Prefecture of Imathias; for the Greek General Consulate in Stuttgart she designed, organised and executed multi level campaign to improve the Greek fame in Germany. She is working for Faretra.info in Greece.
The Running Poem
                  (Tribute to Jack Hirschmann)
The mobility ( had
              of el-
                    egance, speed, of sucess
                    victories) was
The mobility I lost
                held back, back
                             “what was most
                                           loved as a kid”
the overtacking
      of the others
               with the wind
                    ond the long
the finishing line
                         of winners
life’s delusions to teenagers
to put it
that it owes them
                         a home
Homage to Franz Kafka
Dedicated to the people which were lost in the pandemic 2020-2021
When numbers were still numbers, there was no fear… There was just a suspicion, a precaution, perhaps an understated one… But when the numbers began to take shape, to become flesh and blood, to become beloved faces, to become parents, grandparents, brothers and sisters or children, then each number alone began to become a giant. In the beginning there was a hope, a light that life will win, health will kick in, the immune system will jumpstart… But in the end the giants always have the upper hand, like fates, which come with an invisible sword to cut the thread of life with indifference, like an evil unknown force, without any warning. It is rumored that there is a little warning, a bell that rings only on the inside of people. Some call it an underlying disease, others call it carelessness and still others hide behind what they called personal responsibility, because they, themselves, did not want to take on their responsibility, the political one, for public health, for their people well being… That is why the giants are transformed into crosses, into fires and pyres. Slowly, slowly, but steadily a large number of numbers will become crosses and fires and pyres or tears and cries. Each cross will have its own invisible entourage of faces beloved, life companions, sweet mothers, brothers raised with tenderness by sisters and laughter or even children, with un-spend dreams worth living…
Others will have to learn how to breath again, how to speak, how to swallow, not just the truth but food as well, learn how to walk again after being in a coma for months, having lost muscel mass and density of bone. After being wrongly intubated. How to regain freedom of mobility and speech and breath in a post pandemic pandemy… Other will give in to the believe that we are just start dust and seek their neighborhood in the smile of the skies…
To the capitals of lockdown
Our days didn‘t brighten up.
Even if the roads are all open
there is nowhere to go.
Here in this lane
we will survive the winter
untill our values will shine
like funktions
with mathematical precetion.

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