(An extract from Cyprus Poems)
Both the 4 th
And 5 th days
Were quiet days
I guess.
I'd spent most of it
Walking.
I walked up and down
Almost the full of
The tourist area
With only a bottle of water
And my walkman
As my allies.
There was no ports
Of Pathos
To be explored
Or border walls
Of Nicoisa
To be seen.
It was a different kind
Of adventure.
Instead
I explored
The blue, crashing waves
Of the sea
Often in my mind
While sat on the edge
And watched the children
Throw water
In each other's faces
Like it was the
Only thing
That came natural
To them.
Once I would have
Been like that
With long, foppish hair
And too large sandals
And try to keep
Up with my father
On a double
Cycle
Back when I was 12
And fail of course.
Back then I would hide
Behind shadows
And play
Imaginary soldiers
Sometimes by myself.
But my imaginary
Battlefield
Was at the end of a
Rubbish
Laid garden
Or at the end of a
Deserted
Factory.
It was not in
The middle
Of blue waves
Or stony
Fragmented
Beaches.
It was a different kind
Of adventure.
It was a different kind
Of adventure.
(For Evi)