Paul Georgiou
The edge of the sky
Tell me a story of ancient times
and tell me the truth:
we, who are young, are old enough
to listen to both.
In and out of my empty skull
flutters the call of a gull.
Did we not talk
beneath a Thracian sky
when Alexander ruled in Macedon
and look at stars
which here tonight
we still may look upon?
Was it in Samarkand
that many years ago
we bathed our bodies
in the waters of the Zerafshan
where horses from the steppes drank deep and long?
Did we not meet again
beneath a tree along the Appian Way
where Spartacus was crucified
and smile to think how small
the world was then?
I saw your face again in Syracuse
when I was dragged from Athens in defeat.
The night that Scipio came
with half of Rome,
did I not lie with you
in Carthage
long ago?
Each time we crossed each others path
we both asked why
though ages passed.
Do you remember how
when once we met
beside an endless, sunswept shore
a great sea-eagle left the land
and we pursued it, you and I,
uplifted, outstretched by its confident cry,
till the wings of the bird
touched the edge of the sky?