Symbolon Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

Τhey allowed my aunt to visit her old family home
then the neighbour Turkish boy kneeled to her feet,
started kissing her hand, as in the past, and begged:

'Tell me ‘momy’, where have you buried that golden lira? '
'Listen', she replies, ‘‘In our ancient times two friends,
when separated, they used to split in two a coin or a pot;
when met they rejoined the two halves in one symbolon.
Little, Kemal, I inserted the half lira in the wall of my house,
the other half in my refugee house, outside of Salonika.’’

She, a haughty stature, left the boy speechless.
Hard for her to explain to him the mission of History:
that she is a banker, knowing how to safe her gold, or
a goldsmith, melting gold for a perfect identity bracelet.

Our aunty, disclosed only to us her secret, a heritage
and an oath; when time comes for us all to return,
children, grandchildren, brothers, the whole kin,
we shall know how to join the two halves in one
symbolon, friendship of race, as gold standing the fire.

Time will come to join the two halves of the byzantine coin,
History will bless the matrimony, Byzantium shall be moved.



© JosephJosephides