Jesus at Oreokastro

Parents at a school at Oreokastro, Greece announced that they DO NOT welcome children refugees at THEIR school.

I have some questions for those people:

  1. What kind of parents are you?

Teaching your children that other children will hurt them by just being of another country, or don’t have the same beliefs as you.

You are excluding children and people from your life because they are not like you, fearing that you’ll lose some kind of privilege you think you have, when it’s nothing more than a social construct- a wall separating you from real opportunities, real difficulties, real life.

And all that, in the name of some god. But, wait, let me get this straight…

2. What kind of Christians are you, when you do not love your neighbour, your fellow civilian, the immigrant, the refugee?

“Refugee”, by Georgia Kalogerogianni

Jesus was a refugee, if I’m not mistaken, because his mother conceived while not being married which was illegal, not to mention, a social disgrace.

So, I guess, that’s what you would call Jesus: “A refugee bastard”.

When he grew up he started teaching people the importance of love. His students; prostitutes, thieves, fishermen, poor and rich.

According to you, though, Jesus would be an “immigrant troublemaker” that wants to destroy your  civilization so he, with his “gang” can take over your lovely village.

So, the right thing to do would be:

Firstly, ignore him, as if he had no needs.

Secondly, exclude him from anything that requires interaction with him and his “gang”.

Then, put him in prison if he expresses his need to live as a decent human being.

And, if he continued to protest, burn him on a cross, because he set your privilege on fire while you’re trying to save it by degrading others.

Finally, make laws that anyone with the same beliefs, would have the same fate.

3. So…  Does Christianity equals elitism?

I don’t know. I’m not even Christian.

But I think I get it more than you do.


What I see in the mirror

When I look at myself in the mirror, I see brave people.

I see my great-grandmother holding a baby while carrying a huge bag full of sea salt on her shoulders under the hot greek sun.

She does not complain.

She is calm. She didn’t help her violent husband get out of prison cause she was afraid for herself and her girls.

She’s poor and alone, but she had never been that free.

I see my grandmother, who did not compromise to what the standards and the traditions were. She got married twice, trying to fit in the world’s standards. But, yaya is a free bird. She doesn’t need anyone. You can leave  her all alone in a desert and she’d still find her way to survive. That’s strength.


When I look at myself in the mirror, I see a survivor.

I see that girl with the melancholic look asking too many questions that no-one was willing to answer.

I examine every inch of the body that four years ago I wanted to kill and happily realise I’m not that person anymore.

I watch those legs and arms that could not move out of bed and even an unpleasant or boring conversation would make them weaker and weaker.

My nose and eyes seem so red in that mirror- I’ve had a drink or two I suppose.

Yes, I’ve been drinking- I don’t know why I stand naked in front of the mirror.

This may seem like a downfall, but I never break, I just crack.

Freedom is an illusion

​I watch those siblings crying over their brother’s body for my white supermacist freedom not to be disturbed.

But I’m not truly free. 

I’ve got blood on my hands and in my mouth. I’ve killed those kids in Aleppo, in Damascus, in Nigeria- all over the world, even if I’m doing nothing. My smartphone is the mask the government gives me to stay blind. It feels like watching a horror movie and I’m locked in the theater. I’m handcuffed on the red velvet chair I sit on; Trying to strangle myself to escape from the torture of watching and remaining silent, but I can’t even reach my throat.

 I try to scream, so that I get someone to help me. The cries of the children overpass my voice and those that handed me the phone keep my eyes shut. Where is the damn freedom you said I had? How dare you talk about freedom when I hear those voices and I cannot move from this blood coloured prison you’ve built for me?

 Fuck your elitist freedom. Gimme some peace with kids going to school, fearless lovers and colour blind people.
That’s what my freedom looks like.

Poem by MareRubrum

Jeopardize // Only lovers left alive

via Daily Prompt: Jeopardize

When I saw today’s daily prompt, the fist thing that came in mind was the movie “Only lovers left alive”, I don’t really know why… So, I wrote a microstory about a vampire and a mermaid (who are in love) and how they react to people destroying nature.

You can’t swim and I can’t walk, but we will both reach the coast

I’ll still be in the water and you’ll sit on the rocks

you’ll tell me stories about people and birds and horses; those that run free on the frozen coasts

And I’ll tell you stories about fish and corals and seamen that are no longer searching for mermaids and who are desperate

You’ll say that all people are unhappy- seamen or not- oppressed and oppressing

They jeopardize the only life they ever knew, the only place they’ve lived in

And they’re killing us too

I’ll kiss you and I hope all your sorrows slip away

tomorrow there’ll be a better day


10 things that remind me of summer

I accepted the challenge from the article “The poetry of list making”  , as I found it such an incredible idea. My poetry is always political and always describes real things in Greek society, so, if you have any questions about the events described, please, be free to comment.

  1. Strawberries, as of little red jewls, sweet yet sour and sometimes bitter- it may taste like blood, but don’t you care babe, it’s not yours.
  2. Beaches with big, white, rough stones and clear, blue waters. It seems like a paradise that is now lost, but at least babe, you can lay your sunbed on the sand.
  3. Gathering at the front yard and grandma telling us stories of “brave” men that were killing each other for a house, a farm, a tower. Granny never met her father because of a house.
  4. Playing hide& seek in endless olive fields, those that after a while we saw being burnt. We cried, but now that the tears have dried, we pay a visit at the new resort’s cafe.
  5. The deep blue of the Aegean sea. You can watch its beauty from your luxury cruise ship, but don’t get too close to the water; you’ll see the bodies.
  6. Watching the stars fall and making wishes. I wish I had the guts to accomplish even just one of them.
  7. Sweating as I was looking for you at last year’s demonstration. Fearing that the cops may get you, may hit you… I just wanted to be there for you.
  8. People gathering at squares to enjoy the lovely summer nights. I don’t want to ruin your fantasies dear, so I advise you not to pass by Victoria square; you may see some truth.
  9. Eating seafood and drinking ouzo by the sea. Isn’t it hedonic to be a cannibal at your victims’ house?
  10. Summer love vibes. You’re rubbing your dick on me and I gently push you away. You follow me all night long and I’m scared. I ask for some help. They see nothing wrong with flirting.url-2e82a5fed70d8b12ae55a19eed1f753f

A poem about empowerment

A poem by MareRubrum

I am not.

I’m not what you expected me to be

I’m not what you want

I’m not your wife

Or your sister, or your mother.

I don’t belong to you

I’m not your summer dream

Or your childhood love

I’m not princess Tam Tam

Or Grace Kelly

I’m not Twiggy

Or Baez

I’m not a temple

Or a brothel, or a shelter

I’m not your revolution banner

I’m not my body

I’m not my clothes

Or my art, or my science.

I am nothing.

I am much more.