Ποίηση Βίκτωρα Καραγιάννη / Victor's Poems

Saint George of Deryneia: The Palimpsest of History April 23, 2026 – Feast Day The spring sun of Deryneia illuminated the hewn stones of the church as Andreas and Eleni approached the entrance. For most, today’s feast was a religious tradition. For the two friends, armed with the new interdisciplinary study, it was a descent into an eight-century-old architectural palimpsest. I. The External Stratigraphy: A Living Structure They stood first at the eastern side. "Look at the polygonal apse of the sanctuary," Eleni remarked. "It is the hallmark of the Late Byzantine period. This 15th-century core is the heart of the church." Moving westward, Andreas pointed out the joints in the masonry. "This is where the church grew to accommodate the community. During the Ottoman period, the building was extended twice toward the west. It is staggering how the craftsmen of the Tourkokratia (Ottoman rule) attempted to bind the new masonry with the old Gothic shell....

The Easter Huts: In the Threshing Floor of Love, Joy, and Faith The Architects of Tradition The spring of 1905 found Deryneia bathed in a light that seemed to spring from hope itself. In a village of eighty stone houses and four hundred and fifty souls, the construction of the Church of Saint Modestos had brought an unprecedented buzz. However, the true "kingdom" of the day was not found inside the temple, but right next to it: on the old threshing floor, which had been meticulously cleared of manure to welcome the youth. There, far from the solemnity of the elders who watched with "crooked" (judgmental) eyes from the coffee shop, the teenagers had staged their own revolution. Giannis and Ttoullis, their hands soiled with earth and straw, struggled with ropes on the wooden beams. “Tighten the rope on the beam, Gianni!” Ttoullis shouted, wiping dust and sweat from his face. “We don’t want the kalyfi (hut) falling on our heads while the violin is playing!” ...

Egg Dyeing: “A Ritual of Remembrance in Maroulla’s Kitchen” The Sacred Silence of Red Thursday The sun had not yet risen over the plains of our village, but Grandma Maroulla’s kitchen was already the center of the world. A sacred silence reigned within—that heavy, almost tangible stillness of Holy Thursday, which was not an absence of sound, but a presence of awe. In Cyprus, we call it Kokkinopempti (Red Thursday), because the day is dyed with the color of sacrifice. "Come, children, gather 'round. Come, Thomas, come Maria; approach, Emily, Damian," Grandma called to her grandchildren, her voice sounding like a prayer. "Today we do not speak much. Today, our hearts are crucified. Today nature lends its blood to Hope." The Preparation: The Body of Christ On the old stone bench, the "village" eggs waited in wicker baskets. These were eggs from the yard's free-range hens, with shells hard as rock. "Do you see?" Lady Maroulla said,...