The Petty Satraps
Written by Nikos Moschovos
The Petty Satraps of All Kinds
have gone for a walk.
they knock at my windows
trying to grasp
at the marrow of my conscience.
The complete Chameleons
who change their color now and again
want me to do hara-kiri
but I won’t do them that favour;
I will have my own word.
The idiotic petty dwarfs
do not even know the “gods” well.
They use the words
to kill
the air that I breathe.
They don’t want
a beautiful flower.
They don’t want you
to speak your mind.
They don’t want
to experience poetry.
They sit, drowsy,
In their snug berths
In their “imperial” thrones;
they can’t see
farther than the end of their nose.
The short- nearsighted people of all kinds
bury the history.
Who can have bled?
Who can have fought?
Who can shed tears?
They conceal it.
They have falsified the history,
They break down the dream
like bats, they benumb the people
to drink their blood.
On my doors they knock
In the dark they walk
Insipid words they whisper
the sound of my cry
they want to suppress.
They talk rubbish
they do foolish things
map drills;
incompetent generals
in their dreams alone, they are chiefs.
And the people are sleeping
they do not go out of their sleep.
Where are you now, disiant Cloud,
to cover my eyes
to show me the dream again?
The raven has not come yet,
the poet is lying buried.
The losers of all kinds
adore Night;
she covers up their sins,
and in the small taverns
and in the cafeterias
they erode people’s conscience.
Where have you been lost now, Light of my dreams,
Torch of my heart,
Bright Sun of my life,
to switch on my dream
to switch off my nightmare?
They chase my mind
seeking to take you away.
Where are you now, serene figure,
the cry of the heart
to hear
the hum of the beast
that sleeps.
The arbiters of my life
rang my bell
and I said “No”.
NO,
the dream won’t fade away
in the name of your posts
you, monsters of the earthly hell
mongers of my history
seducers of my passion
deniers of my visions;
you are dead
for me now.
The travel I set out
The dream I go to find
in other cities
in other places
where my heart
will feel the rhythm of music
the mystagogy of joy
the pain of truth
the sorrow of beauty
the picture without screams
the meaning of the tears
the truth.
The petty satraps of all kinds
met their death
forever
into the oblivion of my new dream.
Now I Know who they are:
I call them
“death of poetry”.
About the poem
The poem “The Petty Satraps,” written by Nikos Moschovos in December 1990, is included in the poetry collection entitled “Gazing at Dreams – A Poetic Journey 1974-1991″ by Nikos Moschovos, which was “published” for the first time in 1992 in Thessaloniki (ISBN 960-220-324-2, Thessaloniki 1992).
This poetry was re-released in 2013 in eBook (PDF) format by the ONLINE BOOK PUBLICATIONS “NMOS- N. Moschovos” (ISBN-13: 978-960-90172-4-4, 80 pages). It is not “published” in a printed book, but only on the internet.
The poem “The Petty Satraps” is part of another thematic poetic work, written by Nikos Moschovos and published in Greece. All copyrights are reserved.
©Nikos Moschovos 2026
