The Mnemosyne Cocktail

I must have drunk a glass of cocktail from the River of Mnemosyne

to not have forgotten about the romance in Ancient Greece.

Wine bottles are empty. Dreams are awakened. You are gone.

Faraway from people I’ve reached the unmanned Sarakiniko Cliff,

Softly slowly I peeled off the cotton fabric,

feel the quicksand around my sunken

Feet. The hidden bay.

Down the street of Aristogitonos I was lost in the vintage store attic.

And if you come up through those deconstructed broken stairs

you might find me wondering still, so close to the

Sun. My molten wings.

But I cannot obtain the beauty that I am deeply mesmerized by,

Like coffee residues precipitating at the bottom of my cup

that signifies its aroma yet sits so still

Unmoved. What’s meant to be left out.

The city of Akrotiri had never imagined itself

buried under ash on a mundane 1700 B.C day;

And Hadrian’s Library was never built to be in absence

of books and physical knowledge;

And to the kitten who has leaped onto me without any intentions,

I must let you go. I lack a reason to stay.

What should I do to capsulate the Aegean Sea?

Because I do not belong here yet I have fallen asleep in the lullaby of myths. 

Perhaps fear is to know but never meet

the civilisation that has once cultured the Agora and Acropolis and the ruins.

The water of River Mnemosyne is Bitter. What a bitter truth.

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