THE HOUSE OF MY FATHER
The house of my father, to my eyes of a child, a noble man’s house resembled.
It bordered with three roads and it owned three big gardens.
High and imposing, my father’s three storied house
looked as though it touched the sky and contacted God!
The sun illuminated all its three sides
and through the windows, the air freely circulated.
The entrance led to a garden adorned
with patches of pansies, roses and carnations.
Then, followed some white marble steps and a spiral stairway
with a wooden banister and a skilfully curved hand-rail.
The rooms were big, airy, with high ceilings,
allowing feelings of joy and refreshment of the soul.
The right-hand garden was full of green grass, wild plants and shrubberies.
The left-hand garden was filled with fruit trees,
offering a magic view in the spring
and tasty fruits in the summer.
Many people were jealous of my father’s house, where I lived ecstatic moments
during my childhood with unending memories and images beyond description.
My father’s house, where everything seemed peaceful and easy,
where sorrows were rare and hardly painful.
What happened to the house of my father? It was torn down and in its place:
enormous concrete buildings, no gardens, no yards, no fig and apricot trees.
What a pity! My soul weeps when I think of it…
The different expressions of poetry
Elegies and poems, both creations of the mind, care only about cadence and rhythm, rhyme and symbolism, sonority and waving.
Aphorisms and poetic reflections human problems try to examine, and possible solutions for them try to provide.