Poem by Harris Psaras
The door we didn’t open leads
to the rose garden
to the true conflict, between the rose and the thorn
and each error a thick foliage
that hides inside it the birds from the hunter.
The world but a stage show of a travelling troupe
the director quenches his thirst stooping
in the themele. He mistook it for the mouth of the well.
Further on frogs croaked, sang
Attic tragedians with their heavy tones
Time the flowers’ withering and its counting
cast on a healthy leg. Who has the courage?
Eve and Odoaker dared
but half way on the journey their shoulders gave up
their courage cost them Heaven and Rome