My light, your ears of wheat are gilding,
your plain grows tufty, it’s a real painting,
knead and give me fragrant fresh bread,
so I stand and melt sorrows and nails.
Plain of Mesaoria, I hear psalms
walking towards St George church,
the dove came back again,
the people’s hand is wreaking again.
Our affairs of love wander about
all the kisses have a smell of jasmine,
the rays gently caress our roofs,
the hair of the beloved girl is like cob.
© JosephJosephides
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem