🌿 Blood of the Islands 🌿
I was not born of the northern mud,
nor shaped by the Balkan hills.
My blood flows from the islands,
where the Aegean kisses the sun.
The fools of the Balkans,
they can shout into the void,
but I owe them nothing,
not a drop, not a breath, not a name.
My veins carry the salt of the sea,
the fire of ancient stones,
the hymns of Crete, of Kos, of the Cyclades —
not the broken echoes of Balkan tongues.
Let them fade into dust,
while I walk crowned by the light,
the blood of Greece singing in me,
pure, untamed, eternal.