Trabzon Greeks
For the Greeks of Trabzon
By the Black Sea, where the clouds learn to linger,
and mountains breathe slowly into the shore,
there lives a memory that never learned to leave—
soft as tea steam, old as salt.
Trabzon Greeks,
children of wind and stone,
your voices carry the echo of bells
and the hush of forests after rain.
You belong to the color of the sea at dusk,
to paths where history walks barefoot.
You learned to live between waves and peaks,
to hold sorrow without letting it harden,
to greet strangers not as questions
but as guests who might remember you.
Your songs do not shout—
they endure.
They travel quietly through generations,
through bread broken at the table,
through names whispered so they won’t disappear.
Welcome—
not as visitors to the past,
but as keepers of it.
Welcome as people who stayed human
when borders changed their minds.
May the Black Sea always recognize you.
May the mountains never forget your footsteps.
And may your story be told
not with fear,
but with open hands.
You are welcome—
here,
and wherever memory still breathes.