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About the Author

Christos Kallis was born in Larnaca, Cyprus in 1993. His debut
collection of poetry, A Knock on a Door was written with great
flexibility of style and experiental touches and eccentric
twists. At the age of eighteen he abandoned the role of the
student to ser!e in the ilitary ser!ice of his beautiful island. "n
losing that duty, he lost his roantic sensiti!ity, a feature ost
apparent in this collection, and in return gained a ore truthful
insight of odern life.
$%& ALL 'H( H%)(L(** &%+A,'"C*
Ch r i s t o s Ka l l i s
Copyright Christos Kallis
'he right of Christos Kallis to be identified as author of this wor-
has been asserted by hi in accordance with section .. and ./ of
the Copyright, #esigns and )atents Act 19//.
All rights reser!ed. ,o part of this publication ay be reproduced,
stored in a retrie!al syste, or transitted in any for or by any
eans, electronic, echanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise, without the prior perission of the publishers.
Any person who coits any unauthori0ed act in relation to this
publication ay be liable to criinal prosecution and ci!il clais
for daages.
A C") catalogue record for this title is a!ailable fro the 1ritish
"*1, 9./ 1/2933 4/5 3
$irst )ublished 675128
Austin +acauley )ublishers Ltd.
74 Canada *9uare
Canary :harf
(12 4L1
)rinted and bound in ;reat 1ritain
Authors Note
A Knock on a Door is a collection of poes not written for a
particular group of people. "t is for those who in this unroantic
world of insufficient feeling ha!e the eyes of a &oantic
person. 'he collection was written priarily as a result of y
intense fascination with whate!er we see out there that doesn<t
fit its en!ironent. (!eryday things. A couple for instance, who
inexplicably en=oy a tough lo!e. %r a He and a *he who are
naeless in this lo!eless, soeties cruel world of abstract
"t is not by design that in writing it y personality unfolds
on the page, peculiarly, and in ways that anybody who -nows
e can see yself in helter>s-elter. Any author or writer can tell
you that to resonate your portrait on a paper is daring and bold,
because whether you do it purposely or unintentionally, your
wea-nesses and your strengths flare and you are exposed
intensely. "n that way A Knock on a Door is personal, all the
ore so because it is eotionally confessional and honest. "
thin- that on the other end of the spectru, the poes are
occasionally so spontaneous and ipulsi!e that readers can
hardly find the relatable. 1ut in this busy world where
e!erything is planned and e!erybody is occupied, we need
spontaneity in our li!es. :e need to escape, e!en for ere
inutes, in a world where colours in portraits are eccentrically
uddled, notes in syphonies are irregularly disordered, and
where people are confused in a busy, pac-ed crowd. " a not
interested in appearances. " a =ust interested in the truth.
+y intention in writing all twel!e poes is to cogitate and
roantici0e the reader in such a way that they will be left
disantled and disared. 'o stri-e the reader with realities of
all sorts, not necessarily fro this world, and then spare the
fro the pain of -nowing that we all a-e the ista-es y
characters do in the poes, and often e!en ore radically than
the. " thin- that soe of the poes here are ere thoughts.
1lea- and sobre eotions, con=ured with y inner>ost
feelings haronically. *oe, li-e the Cloud poe are inspired
by prie pieces of art, but others, li-e An Apple are uninspired>
dreas. (!en though the thee of each poe is explicit, there
are no coon and re>occurring ideas other than absurdity and
irony. +y poetry is about e!erything that a-es no sense. How
He cannot say ?" lo!e you@ fro the first date, or why *he li-es
that guy when He =ust offered his heart folded in a red bou9uet.
" really hope the poes in this collection will align
agically, li-e stars, and for a huge Athan- you< to literature,
which " ha!e always been in lo!e with. " pray that the poes are
artistic enough to contribute, e!en in the slightest way, to this
stunning art for.
~A lonely dot in a Sestina~
%n a !oyage between the lines of a *estina,
Colubus found a lonely, abandoned dot.
A dot so inaccurately isplaced.
Lost, one ight say, in the intricacy of the poe.
%n his expedition to find the conclusion,
Colubus sailed throughout all six stan0as and the triplet.
He o!ed around those 39 lines,
*truggling to find his way around the annoying fixed pattern.
He explored, tirelessly, one etaphor after the other,
)assing o!er e!ery incoherent alliteration,
"gnoring the difficulty of each personification,
%nly slowing down on a rhetorical 9uestion of cunning nature.
+aybe he was loo-ing for a closure,
%r aybe it was an extreity of tie he was trying to find.
A poe should end with a resolution,
1ut this one could clearly only spare a dot.
How did it endB
Colubus leaped into the shadows of the wea- sub=ect atter,
And there it wasC a cathartic dot.
~ An Apple ~
" saw deons clibing up your wall.
A wall that you built so a=estically high to prohibit angels
A deon tried to help e enter, but in that tie of the year those
thorns were too thorny for y hands.
An angel was crucified there, next to the Aunin!ited< sign.
'he blac- rose -ept falling fro y hands,
" had to sacrifice its beauty to reach that !ictorious pea-.
1ut such steepness in structure and such deadly sharpness in
shape can endanger anyone<s life.
'he blood fro y pierced hands floated endlessly,
and " ga0ed at the spectacle of its =uicy red colour orchestrated
peacefully with y sadoasochistic pleasure.
'hen " caught a fiend staring at e.
At the tie he was eating a red apple. His apple was painted red.
~A letter to Aeschylus~
"nside a stage of desolation,
fifty or so labourers of art sang their ode playfully.
And e!en fro their parodos, tragedy was iinent,
and up until their exodos their narrati!e was restless.
'he solitude of the stage brought along a an.
A beggar and a -ing.
A an with a clarity of destiny,
whose future was decided upon his birth.
1ut he was destined for great things.
'o get struc- by lightningD
'o get burned by fireD
'o get drowned by waterD
Ahead of the altar,
that an<s pit of despair was deepened.
And the chorus cae dressed with wic-ed as-s.
And in his deented ind they were deons.
'hey o!ed restlessly along the epty space,
with a synchroni0ed speech that pierced his soul,
siultaneously uttering truths.
'he truth on a stage is a lie.
'hunder suoned a essengerC
a bearer of tragic warnings.
And the an was warned.
And the an was proised.
"n the dar-ness of the stage, in the absence of the light,
the an sat with his -nees on the ground,
with a bro-en crown on his head.
A ragged an, with a ragged =udgent.
Eust li-e water descends fro a waterfall.
+uch li-e la!a crawls ine!itably down a ountain,
the an was reduced to shreds,
and li-e e!ery great story, the ;od did weep at the end.
~His Wolf-Whistle~
"t is better to die by a #eon<s touch than to sur!i!e an Angel<s
~ had a !rother !ut he died~
'he title see-s your attention,
because dear reader, " want your attention alert and your eyes
A night s-y turns white fro shooting stars.
+ount (!erest is concealed fro a shroud of dar-ness.
#ante goes to Hell before he has yet to see his final e!ening.
A tear e!aporates in #eceber.
(!ery tie a feather drops it echoes.
,uber six is nine.
A -ey brea-s inside a loc-.
+eet e tonight. At 77.55 sharp. 1ring your lies with you.
" had a brother but he died.
1lin-. 1reathe. &epeat.
" a a irror.
Loo- at e now, because you need e.
Fou always ha!e e there with you, e!en if " ta-e pictures that
you hate to see.
" will answer your 9uestions,
=ust be gentle.
" hate fingers, and their dirty prints.
'he oon rises fro the (ast.
A woan wal-s in her original suit.
#ragons fire up a candle.
+acbeth dreas about a ragged shirt.
A ga0elle haunts a lion.
+ary is ha!ing sex with Eoshua.
Conception brings death.
,ature becoes unnatural.
A freshly blooed leaf, dressed in a green whisical dress,
brings an end to a flaeGs life.
A " losing youB
" had a sister, but she died.
1lin-. 1lin-. 1reathe. &epeat.
Fou cae with a bag full of lies,
at the tie that en of the church are lighting up their candles.
Lie to e then.
Lie to e before brea-fast,
because " want to wear your deception for ost of the day.
"t is better to ha!e nobody.
*a!e your tears for the li!ing.
" no longer need your attention.
" present to you y art. Huble and personalH
*catter y ashes all o!er your body,
you, whose body is still dressed in a linen of iortality.
" died before " had the chance to -iss you a second tie,
because the first one was deadly sweet.
Four lips, thirsty and needy for ine,
sought out for a conduct so unearthly and unholy,
that when ine touched yours all of ,eptuneGs water drought
"n the iddle of the stage,
the last light is -eeping e ali!e.
+y last, desperate actD
Four eyes are those of the aeon>dead forest.
After each blin-, they open horridly,
li-e a anGs body would be ripped open.
"n horror, a tear escapes fro its prison,
slowly e!aporating on the terrace of your chee-s.
And it is #eceber. "t is #eceber.

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