This is a series of poems of words that do not directly translate into English. I have tried to capture the essence of the word in a poem.

By Thomas Page

A smooth zephyr carries the fallen leaves of trees

Across the dried concrete littered with autumn

Painted shades of orange and yellow

On a tranquil street free of cars

In the early afternoon.

The leaves dance to unheard fiddles

Played in bursts of natural spontaneity

Ebullient and free and chainless from the branches.

The air an old companion

To the trees breathing in and out

The same gases

In a cycle.

The wind carries the leaves

In a twister

Like a friendly bronco

A sight for passing eyes

Too common for pageantry

But not enough to ignore its majesty.

The sound of Echo

Mixed with Persephone

Leaving here for there.


Language: Greek

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