Roma I Poem by Masiela Lusha

Roma,
I never visited you before this.
I have dreamt of you, but in my dreams
I never touched you- not as I touch you now.
Today, I have seen your shells of stained colors
Sparkle and twist by light,
Staining the pews and ivory giants
The brilliant shades of your faith.
I stepped and stumbled on white-faced stones,
And secretly pressed my pink palm on your cold marble,
In natural rainbow values.
So bright, vast walls were designed
And painted just with your stones.
Azure, pink, caramel, and emerald dreams of nature.
All marble, all fantastic.

Today you welcomed me into your altars and cathedrals,
You presented me to your martyrs, who told me their story
In their carved gestures and carved books.
So cherished are their teachings-
These treasures of marble
Pages are chiseled into their ivory hands.
'Ars Longa, Vita Brevis'

I searched the details of their feet I could not reach
And further walked this hall of colossal saints and apostles,
Equally high. They were not meant to be touched
By these mortal hands. They had endured too much.

Today, your temples, worn as patches of identity,
Stand as primitive and earthly as carved mountains
Quietly regning over your dwelling fellow hearts
After two thousand years; narrating a story of sensual art
As ancient as it is modern. So modern,
We visit your faith, to learn- and return, to learn more.

History will always mother and lead a civilization,
but you will always be the mother of history, for on your bruised
Hand sprawls two parallel cities, one
Mastering the untouched golden and marble
Statues of time, virtue and blood,
The other, a modern stage for comfort play.

Roma, on your creased palm of seven hills
Lies a world as unmarred as the virtuous talent
of speech, grace, and mortal art found in your sons
And daughters; your children we call eternal masters.