17 seventeen

‘The seventeen reminds me of my Muse

In cosmopolitan Athens’ –

The poet said –

And felt gently tugged by her

At an intimate moment of waking-up.

‘Once a great event of a perfect communicative

Game turned a great love

Impossible to know at the start

Into the blue-violet mist of the city

Around the Filothei Hill

Last visited with my Great Muse

On a day filled with an overflow of


Still emotions grip his heart and throat

But tears won’t come any longer

To his eyes

All the while in the country of

Africa at the South

He had cried into the garden of his dreams

That brought frustration to his poetry and

Art: Seventeen Songs for ANA.

So then, the poet mused –

‘Is this my work cut out for me?

That my Muse had intended before she

Made the giant irreversible step into the

‘Great Void’?




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