Tag Archives: ancient

Epi Oinopi Ponto

28 May


Turquoise streaks stretch lazily along the coast

Paradisaical pools beckon an invitation to sail

In the light that shines between currents and time

Splashing, plunging into the wet Greek blue.


Carpets of sea floor amphorae

Woven tales of engraved

Men lost at sea, lone figures,

Shipwrecked, striding the keel,

Surviving disaster

On the wine-dark sea


Calling for a hero

His spirit putatively as strong

As wine poured from the jug

And when he spoke the waves rocked

A sea foam epic echoing these heroic words:


My mates were thrown from the ship,

And like sea crows they bobbed on the waves

Around the black ship, and the god

Took their homecoming from them.”


And in this Odyssiodic episode,

Of drowning seas and ominous crows,

Foretells the junction between will and fate

So tenuous is the line that spares a

Life or ceases the spirits gait.


It is only those who risk their

Lives on Trojan shores and

Face the Cyclops inner eye

Who know of loves loyal tides

Of beloveds burns and blinds

Whose ardent words immortalize.


Passionate Tradition

27 Jan


These narrow streets bursting of life

Smother the medieval sounding

Footsteps that roam here.

Hollow steps, echo the remains of

Prohibited passions and eternal longings.

These dark humid alley ways,

Playground for forbidden loves.

A dowry of yearnings and longings

snubbed by her mother

As shattered love drips from the heart.

A load of dusty sentiments,

left to seal the cracks in the street.

She slips through the ancient Roman tunnels and

Byzantine passages to feel his burning kiss.

In the Omayyad citadel he holds her.

They gaze at the horizon, lights far out of reach.

city talk

27 Jan


Cream colored ashlars adorn these ancient city streets,

Sidewalks of silk and perfumed linens fill the horizon

Seekers of gold or prayer beads,

All find what they need

Even a mosque and church straddle one another

And atheists are invited in for tea.


A city of gentlemen, and refinement.

From Alexander to Flaubert. Who has not come here?

In these crowded streets, strangers glance,

Eyes dialogue, and passions collide.

A darting heart that fears,

Is drowned by the Grand Mosques

Bosom of receptive serenity.

Here a father still rules.


Fried felafel fills the air,

Pita with hummus to go,

No one feels the hunger.

The honey coated baklava,

Handed to me for free,

Ahlan wasahlan….welcome to our city.

This is Aleppo.


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