“Small temples” built on the side of the road
on the mountain near the cliff,
testimony of pain and mourning,
In backyards, vows and patrons.
By the sea, tributes to Ai Nikolas.
Some built with passion, made by an experienced craftsman.
Bright and white from lime,
with the door bright blue or red to stand out.
Others to balance suspended with difficulty, on a thin iron or stone pole.
Eaten by the wind, rusty by the rain.
On the side of the road,
with the gaze passing them.
Through their broken glass emerge photos of saints and people, consolation.
Some forgotten by people
and others to be accompanied by a flower… let it be plastic.
The lit candle visit sign,
frequent presence so that forgetfulness does not win.
Do not let darkness overcome, as Aunt Katina used to say.
The iconostasis withstand the time since then…. stopped.
memory is what keeps them, in a peculiar and primitive relationship between space and death… as a totem.
But also respect for a “built” human pain!
small “temples – shrines”,
on the edge of the street,
in the yards of houses,
in inaccessible mountains.
In a big city or village.