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Local strangers
On this journey
I will not come with you.
I will stay here,
sitting on eagle’s stone of Epos.
Wingless but illuminated.
Surveying the tangerine trees of Kampos
and the red stone houses.
The gained ground of my ancestors
that become rosy-hued in the horizon
from Tsesme and beyond.
Chewing the mastic from Olympus,
that gathered by your hands.
Getting drunk
with Ariousios wine,
from grapes that stepped by your legs.
I shall stay here.
To give you back your homeland
that for centuries now
you walk on as foreigners.
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