This is Rome, converted home of the gods,
seat of the Papacy, and of the Renaissance,
place of the Leaning Tower
and the sword of Antiquity,
artifact of artifacts, house of the divine
imagination, where heroes wrestle gods,
push boulders up infinite hills.
We pray, hands clasped,
in Michelangelo's depiction
of St. Peter's Basilica, marveling
at its baroque architecture.
Then, off to the Sistine Chapel
to view the outstretched finger of God,
the magnificent Vatican Museums;
then to the Coliseum,
to witness the spectacles
of Classical Mythology:
gladiatorial contests, mock sea battles,
animal hunts, executions
and battle reenactments.
There's a sense of history here
in this partially-ruined monument
devastated by earthquakes and stone-robbers;
today used as fortress and shrine-
a symbol of the resilience of its people
and our love,
a monument shaken
but surviving the ruins of time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem