Poem by Romos Fyliras

Portrait

In the street where people run incuriously

indifferent to beauty, you sauntered

looking as if the breeze was raising you,

as if you never hated anyone.

Your step was soft, a revelation,

your face snow-white, a lily,

and as your shining glance alighted on me

that tranquil smile appeared.

Like the priest of some fantastic faith

or someone painted by Velasquez’s holy brush

an Andalusian lord

you peeked out from behind the sea of people.

Once I met you in a noisy street,

a serene ghost, fleshless, holy,

you stayed on in my soul like

an ethereal idol and I your fanciful believer.      

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