ElvenAngel
I forget stuff because I had to make room in my he
I love my city, Athens, even though it's a city that likes to hurt its children. It's probably a very off-putting place to live in for most people, especially foreigners, but I think some people are still able to see something beautiful about it, even though objectively...it's a cesspool. I have favorite places of the city to visit, and its real heart is one of my favorite ones.
Beautiful Mess
People climb the Acropolis for a hundred different reasons.
Primary students are made to climb and learn about its history.
They scoot up the rocky path, under the teasing gaze of the olive trees.
Giggling and laughing.
The ancient stones look down upon them, weary;
They no longer can demand that the children look at them in awe.
They have lost much of their form and dignity after history’s repeated blows,
The grasping hands of time, but they have kept their sugar color,
Their joy and pride.
Those tourists, loaded with backpacks,
Eyes wide in awe, clutching a guide-book,
They are the most amusing.
They follow a guide up the ancient road, like sheep,
Marveling at the ingenuity of the ancients.
And half-way up, they stop and pant,
The Americans sweating off the Big Macs,
The Japanese clicking away on their cameras,
The British endlessly chattering away.
The tourists always bring a big smile on my face.
The Greeks climb that old, handsome rock,
Cringing at the tough road,
Muttering about the scorching sun--
But they climb.
Old ladies hold onto the arms of their sons and daughters,
Wrecks themselves most of the time,
They drag themselves slowly to the wrecked wonder.
Young couples hold hands, joined in hope and trot up the path, laughing.
Lone explorers heave themselves up the path
With a bottle of water for company.
They trace their footsteps on those of their ancestors,
Attracted to its savage pride like bees to honey.
That big blue sky above it is taunting them,
Daring them to go reach up and touch it.
But the funny thing is how things change over the centuries.
People once climbed up there every day to revere their goddess.
Now the goddess is forgotten, the people only climb it once, maybe twice.
Just to say they did.
But I go every now and then. I climb up that big hunk of rock, panting,
Sweating off college, the stress, the depression and the misery,
Breathing out the fog over my head,
Pulling off the veil over my eyes.
And when I’m standing at the top, I look down.
Oh, I’ve seen the big blue above, the perfect symmetry of the Parthenon
And the elegant beauty of the Erehthion a thousand times.
Now I’m more interested in the city below.
That beautiful, crazy mess of a city.
I like messy places.
And In the end, I climb up that wonderful rock for the sheer pleasure of the climb.
Beautiful Mess
People climb the Acropolis for a hundred different reasons.
Primary students are made to climb and learn about its history.
They scoot up the rocky path, under the teasing gaze of the olive trees.
Giggling and laughing.
The ancient stones look down upon them, weary;
They no longer can demand that the children look at them in awe.
They have lost much of their form and dignity after history’s repeated blows,
The grasping hands of time, but they have kept their sugar color,
Their joy and pride.
Those tourists, loaded with backpacks,
Eyes wide in awe, clutching a guide-book,
They are the most amusing.
They follow a guide up the ancient road, like sheep,
Marveling at the ingenuity of the ancients.
And half-way up, they stop and pant,
The Americans sweating off the Big Macs,
The Japanese clicking away on their cameras,
The British endlessly chattering away.
The tourists always bring a big smile on my face.
The Greeks climb that old, handsome rock,
Cringing at the tough road,
Muttering about the scorching sun--
But they climb.
Old ladies hold onto the arms of their sons and daughters,
Wrecks themselves most of the time,
They drag themselves slowly to the wrecked wonder.
Young couples hold hands, joined in hope and trot up the path, laughing.
Lone explorers heave themselves up the path
With a bottle of water for company.
They trace their footsteps on those of their ancestors,
Attracted to its savage pride like bees to honey.
That big blue sky above it is taunting them,
Daring them to go reach up and touch it.
But the funny thing is how things change over the centuries.
People once climbed up there every day to revere their goddess.
Now the goddess is forgotten, the people only climb it once, maybe twice.
Just to say they did.
But I go every now and then. I climb up that big hunk of rock, panting,
Sweating off college, the stress, the depression and the misery,
Breathing out the fog over my head,
Pulling off the veil over my eyes.
And when I’m standing at the top, I look down.
Oh, I’ve seen the big blue above, the perfect symmetry of the Parthenon
And the elegant beauty of the Erehthion a thousand times.
Now I’m more interested in the city below.
That beautiful, crazy mess of a city.
I like messy places.
And In the end, I climb up that wonderful rock for the sheer pleasure of the climb.