Round the World to see how far it is - 04
The Heat of Monistiraki
Icy cool chills my brow - this side of the door.
It opens and closes and a wall of heat sears across an ancient temple.
The smell of herbs and taxi petrol mixes with souvlaki and leather
A whirl of sound and smells, of rich and poor.
My archaic sandals slide over marble and dust.
Cars tooting a cacophony of insults as jaywalkers risk life and limb.
The noise of the bars and café culture mingles with laughter fierce.
A vortex of white noise and curses, solicits wanderlust.
The sun glares at bleached walls, graffiti dissected.
Junk and detritus piled alarmingly high for sale on every pavement,
Colours emblazon scream ‘I am alive’ then linger to fade in the sun
And genial classical and hostile modern mix, unaffected.
Amble down to the market and blend with the fleas.
Cheap and cheerful wedlocked with genuine and fake under the counter.
Vintage vinyl rubs shoulders with a counterfeit kouros Apollo commanding
The sun to allow the soft gentle Zephyr of light breeze.
Antiques and trinkets silently call to me ‘buy me’.
The furnace of the labyrinthine streets close in and demand to be obeyed.
Sauntering towards the neighbourhood of the gods and expensive wares
But as I stroll upmarket, the insistent voice of passion whispers ‘never deny me.’
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