A Pirates' Island Poem by Aphrodite Anastasia Menegaki

Anchors aweigh, setting sail, full speed ahead,
To isles and seas deep, of safe ports instead.
Our Captain knows these seas like the back of his hand;
But ten striped dolphins led the way to a piece of land,
Where hundred meters above stand a fortress' remains.
Turquoise waters; I feel their saltiness in my veins;
At starboard by the gunwale stood the captain's trusted,
Storm tossed face and skin from the sea rusted;
Bosun's eyes sharp as knifes behind the smoke of his pipe,
Grey tufts under his old hat and a shirt pinstripe.
A man of his word and strong as this land's rocks;
He orders, he knows and watches over his salty dogs.
I asked, in an island as such who could ever survive?
And the old salt told a tale of the year eighteen twenty five,
About an August night when men fifteen with fire in their chest,
Turned a rock in the Cretan Sea into a pirates' nest.
They hanged fear before the mast and hoisted their courage for flag;
Rebels, Hellenes; for slaves the Sultan could no longer brag.
Three thousand people lived, fought and thrived here free,
For it's in our blood, yours and mine, never to bow the knee!
What's that island of pirates who knew no slavery nor defeat?
And the old salt said 'Gramvousa, my lass, Gramvousa of Crete'.