The Fig Tree Will Bear Fruit by Sofia Kioroglou

The Fig Tree Will Bear Fruit

Going around in circles
My compass is broken
Disoriented, I search for the Light
My egocentrism, a crippling neurosis

Cut off from the Life
My visceral putrefaction
A vicious cycle of sinuous entanglement
Of subjective schemas and delusions

Like the tax collectors and the prostitutes
I beseech you not to dash me to pieces like pottery
My repentance, a humble acceptance of Your Glory
In shemayim, the sinners can enter through Your son’s atoning death.



Death kissed you in November by Sofia Kioroglou

Death kissed you in November

Death kissed you in November
and I am a complete mess inside!
I am suffocating and gasp for some air
but my oxygen mask has now gone to heaven.

Sofia Kioroglou is a Greek poet, writer and perennial traveller to the Holy Land and Egypt. Her recent entry to the Festival for Poetry was singled out at the Best of February and her poems have been selected in the 26 Most Commented Writers Category of Pengician. Her poems can be found online and in print in Lunaris Review, In Between Hangovers, Galleon Literary Journal, Pengician, Galway Review, Verse-Virtual, Dumas de Demain, Books’ Journal, Poetic Diversity, Every Writer, Winamop and Aenaon to name but a few. She has work forthcoming this March in Basil o’ Flaherty. She was one of the winners in the International Competition of this January and her work won a distinction in the Poetry Contest of Unesco Club for the return of the Elgin Marbles to Greece. Her work is mentioned in the Winningwriters Magazine this February.


Heartfelt thanks to my Editor Monsieur Klaus for the wonderful presentation of my work in his beautiful literary journal.

St. Matrona the Righteous Wonderworker of Moscow

You had the gift of spiritual vision
Your blindness, the getaway to the Light
Suffused with uncreated Light, your heart
Saw what human eyes could not see

Bearing the Holy seal on you
Your christening a divine revelation
Dipped into the font, a column of light
Sweet-scented steam rising up to the ceiling

You cured people of various torments,
Expelling demons and banishing them
“the epitome of the angel–warrior incarnate,
with sword of fire in hand fighting evil powers”.

A servant chosen before you were born
An angel in the flesh wast thou revealed to be
You foresaw the will of God with noetic eyes
Your bodily blindness, a gift of spiritual wisdom

Through the eyes of Saint Maria Skobtsova (1945) by Sofia Kioroglou

Tribute to a New Martyr – Our Holy Father Philoumenos of the Brotherhood of the Holy Sepulchre

Martyred at Jacob’s Well, 16/29 November, 1979

Dispeller of the powers of evil
You vanquished the serpent
Well done thou good and faithful servant
Because you have been faithful over little things

At the hands of your extremist assailants,
You suffered a martyric death, tortured and massacred
You have inherited the Earth and reigned in the heavens
Amongst the elders offering incense before the throne of the LambWall_painting_of_Saint_Philoumenos_of_Jacobs_Well_Church_in_Palestine

The looking-glass self

Your stabs hit me exactly where you hope they would
with such ferocity that gouges out all vanity and conceit.
A knife thrust through the illusions of my bloated ego,
An ugly distortion of an inner image through a plastic glass
which finally crumpled with me looking at the looking-glass self.

“In the ark…”By Sofia Kioroglou

Be in the ark at the time of the flood
Stay united with God and you will be delivered
Call upon the name of the Lord and you won’t be lost

Don’t concoct your own interpretations
For you might get lost in your own labyrinthine mazes
Concern yourself with Christ and not the Antichrist

Be ready for take-off at all times
For the surest citizenship is in Heaven
Don’t delude yourself, we are all in the departure lounge

Patiently yours, Nietzsche

It smells like winter.
The hot tea is steaming in the mug
Peter got from Hong Kong on his last visit,
along with a pinkish scarf.

I am anxious to see him back on terra firma.
He called to say he’s lost his visa.
But rest easy!

It is three in the morning.
The hands of the mantel clock another sting in my anticipation.
He must be heading home.
I won’t fall into the arms of Morpheus tonight.
I will listen to some Nietzsche on the radio.

The actor begins the recitation.
His staccato words walking on a tight rope.
A musical piece to take a breather from my obsession.

I ‘ll close my eyes.
I won’t spend the night biting my nails,
waiting for that flight to arrive.

“Since I grew tired of the chase
And search, I learned to find;
And since the wind blows in my face
I sail with every wind”

Patiently Yours,