0199 Constantinople

Two sisters separated soon after birth one dark-haired, one fair, both beautiful, with shining eyes run towards each other, eagerly, yet shyly, wonderingly, from the two ends of a bridge high over the water that joins and separates – run to meet: Constantinopolis, Byzantium; a city never here and always there, a city made of images in the mind and heart its jewelled, aqueous, shifting light promising and hiding like a jewelled dancer swirling, whom our senses yield to but may not touch provoking us with mystery, clouded fables, many interpretations as to her history to which we bring our own uncertainties; choose what we can, but, transfixed, gaze upon her seduction and marvel at her, glowing invisibly with an imperceivable unity, a knowing of a history of bloodshed, odious intrigues, with a dazzling sense of the divine, of holy wisdom, defying us to judge her, by her charms; like an oracle, speaking with her silence; like an ikon, gazing at your soul; if you lack perception her smile will seem like sorrow; she asks nothing of you, yet waits to greet you as graciously as a goddess; as a queen. From the Cypriot Greek of Vera Korfioti