The jagged peaks with pure and sun-lit snow
Of lofty and forever proud Lefka Ori
Their wise and sagely majesty bestow
On those who venerate and seek their noble glory.
Up high, in the revered divine abode,
Concealed, lie many secret olden stories
Of mythic Cretan men whose valiant and fearless code
Is woven with ancestral allegories.
The code of stalwart honor, code of pride
Is passed through many island generations,
That spirit neither crumbled, neither waned nor died,
Nor perished with the bravest buried ancients.
Their memory today is just as keen and sharp
As hard-edged daggers in their broad zonária,
Tucked tightly in this blood-tinged crimson garb,
As tight as interwoven leaves of basket raffia.
Blood, sweat and tears have soaked the blackened soil
Just as sariki scarf which crowns their steely brows,
And fertile olive trees are grateful for their toil,
They grant a harvest season which delights and wows.
The love of Cretan men for their own fabled land
Is like the love of Erotókritos and Aretoúsa,
Only a soulful lyra, crying in their strong and steady hand,
Expresses their profound bond, so deeply-rooted, so elusive.
Michele Mitrovich
January 2, 2021.
