I am of those people,
who love
the violin
whether the strings weep
in a dolorous
lamentation
or dance with a leap
of ecstasy.
I am of those people,
who know the taste
of the poppy seed
baked
into pastries-
that gummy black paste,
a curious mix
bitter, yet sweet
- so much like life.
I am of those people,
whose grandmothers'
sat in ancient rooms
crocheting
lace,
while the eyes
of the icons
watched
serenely.
I am of those people,
whose fathers'
once walked
rain-drenched
cobble-stoned streets
and crushed
their cigarettes
under booted heels
and watched the stubs
mingle with fallen
acacia petals
as flower and ash
flowed into a rivulet
- their watery grave.
I am of those people,
who revere poetry
and cherish their poets
as much as they revere and cherish liberty.