GR (In the South)

(revised version)

 

In the realm of vineyards and olive trees 

In the citadel of hot humid nights

We wasted away dancing in the breeze 

Counting pointlessly the stellar lights.

 

The foliage urged us in clandestine meetings 

we leaned back and let go of our innocence.

Between childish scribblings and philosophic readings,

entranced by the fragrant citrusy essence,

a fine blend of dry leaves and wet soil and tangerine;

we softly engaged in our first timid contact. 

Then the beauty of the land-The Eternal Youth clad in green-

came and slipped it back into our palms intact.

 

In the south our dusks are sanguine 

And our dawns smell of freshly dug dirt

No caress can appease our pathos within 

Feral beasts wrestle underneath our shirt.

 

Over the mountain tops has passed not a single day! 

The only thing that ages here is wine.

I keep saying "I must leave, but maybe not today..."

My poor soul quivers before this stuning sunshine

 

And floods and hurricanes have tried to drown Her,

quakes and winds tried to bring her to Her knees,

wars have beaten Her and even I have looked down on her.

But nothing can break Her for She commands the seas!

 

And each ring inside each tree trunk a ring on my finger.

Each wrinkled fallen fruit my grandmother's hand.

And even Time himself felt the desire to linger

Bow down and shed a tear over this ancient, untamed land.

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GR (In the South) 

(Original Version)

 

In the land of vinyards and olive trees

In the citadel of hot humid nights

We wasted away dancing in the breeze

Counting pointlessly the stellar lights.

 

The foliage urged us in secret meetings;

we leaned back and let go of our innocence.

Inbetween childish scribblings and philosophic readings

entranced by the fragrant, citrussy essense;

a fine blend of dry leaves and wet soil and tangerine;

We silently engaged in our first timid contact.

Then, Beauty- The Eternal Youth- clad in green

came and gave it back to us intact.

 

In the south our dusks are sanguine

And our dawns smell of freshly dug dirt

No caress can appease our pathos within.

Of our tongue noone gets a single word.

 

Over the mountains tops has passed not a single day!

The only thing that ages here is wine

I keep saying "I must leave!" but maybe not today...

I can't bear to turn my back on this sunshine.

 

And floods and hurricanes have tried to drown Her

quakes and winds tried to bring Her to Her knees

Wars have beat Her; and even I have looked down on Her...

But nothing can break Her for She commands the seas.

 

And each ring on each tree trunk, a ring on my finger.

Each wrinkled fallen fruit, my grandmother's hand.

And even Time Hismelf felt the desire to linger.

No force of nature, no knave can tame this immortal land.