Europa, Europa,
How they yearn
For you still.

Your laced Venetian
Archways, raised ridges,
Baroque bridges;
Athena's mount,
To the Seven hills;
Londinium, Minsk to
Milan.

You ravish
Their hearts
Still.

Twirling minuets,
And playful silhouettes
To the sound of the opera,
Theatrical plays, sonnets
And classical ways.

Bach, Beethoven,
Italian mandolins;
A thousand voices
And a thousand choices
Cascading like a cleansing river,
A gurgling, gushing life giver;
Washed in golden notes
Of the harpsichord, bassoon
And melodious violins falling
Like coloured flowers over
Soft waterfalls.

A transcendent dazzling
Epiphany of voices of
Generations lost and won
Echoing on the high alter
Of the lord like the choirs
Of angelic hosts and martyrs
Shimmering in white
Mingling with the aroma
Of frankincense and myrrh
Through the tendrilled smokey
Fingers that caress our
Fantasies and dreams.

That smudges the sky,
With a laughter and a sigh.

Like the haunting words
Of William Blake flying
Over cypress trees casting
Fluted shadows over
Golden gondolas gliding
In the canals,the ancient
Theatrical masks of
Epidaurus sifting
The wondrous
Beauty of an archaic
Sophoclean choir
Gilding the sky
With a constellation of
Immortality.

To the colonnaded
Parisian cafes daubed in the
Colours and brushstrokes of
Its famous masterful sons
And the bejewelled
Belle Époque dazzling
The world with the
Rubies, diamonds and
Amethysts from Its
Unrivalled cultural
Treasure house.

Your sons
Have cleaved the waves,
Ploughed the blue seas,
And seen strange lands;
Tasted fine and delectable things;
Peopled the Americas,
And the great southern
Land.

O Europa, Europa,
How much have you
Given the world?

You have colonised it
Not with the rattle and hum
Of the sword or the gun,
But with the mind and
The soul.

A dimmed, flickering
Incandescent light
In the corner awaiting
To rekindle warm
Glowing hearts.

Like the warmth
And joy that
A crackling fire
Under a twinkling
Sky brings to gnarled
And cold limbs of the
Old and the young.

Your works
Remain unrivalled still;
Europa, Europa.

How they
Yearn for
You still.

 *******************************

With a digital drawing from Nikos Laios

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