Ionia
Ionia was lost forever
in 1922
Ionia, a spring and a mother.
Think of the silent deeds
that stand by us
when we become conscious of the great pain
deeds of man and the mountains
take form slowly in such a way
grievance isn’t for Greece
but for history.
How often power hidden
in the mystery of life
turns its face away from
the honest works of man
before the decay
that confronts and spreads
like the frozen and parched
gust of winter
the longing of the Greek
and the Turk’s arrogance
fade away.
Both alike
the sun and the cloud
that together sink and dissolve in the night
in the great night.
In Ionia one can meet us
you and I and
the black headscarf of the grandmother.
One can see the made of oak wood boat of Odysseus
the vendetta of stony Mani
and Markos Mpotsaris’ Laka-Souli
the voice that became Logos
or the playful waves
accentuated by star matter
thickening the columns of the temple.
In Ionia man tried
to create the face of god
and at last
he created his own
thoughtful face.
Manolis Aligizakis 