Old Men’s Souls Within their ancient, decrepit bodies the souls of old men wallow. Poor things, so full of sorrow: how bored with the wretched life t… - Konstantinos P. Cavafy

One of Their Gods When one of them passed through the forum
of Seleucia just as night began to fall,
young, tall, perfect in his beauty,
with the joy of imperishability in his eyes
and his aromatic black hair,
the passers-by would stare,
asking each other if they knew the man:
was he a Greek from Syria, or a foreigner?
But some, who watched with greater attention,
understood and drew aside for him to pass;
and as he vanished under the arcades,
amid the shadow and light of evening,
proceeding to that neighbourhood
which comes alive only at night, with orgies and debauchery,
every kind of drunkenness and lust,
they wondered which of Them he might be,
and for which of his suspect passions
had he come down to the streets of Seleucia
from the Venerable and Sacred Abodes.

From all I did and all I said
let no one try to find out who I was.
An obstacle was there that changed the pattern
of my actions and the manner of my life.
An obstacle was often there
to stop me when I’d begin to speak.
From my most unnoticed actions,
my most veiled writing — from these alone will I be understood.

"From "Ships"

The marketplaces of the Imagination have shops that are grand and opulent, but not of any great duration. Their transactions are brief, they dispose of their merchandise swiftly, and they are immediately liquidated."