I never understood my mother.
She used to rest with a book in her hands.
She read novels about tragedies and stolen lands.
Skin-to-skin with my father

Why does she read books about fights and wars?
At her feet lived a real-life Hoplite man.
Already thinking about his phalanx plan.
How to conquer or claim forbidden lands

He never understood my mother.
Why bother with peaceful streams?
When in battle, steel swords gleam.
Crimson blood and gunshot dreams

Me on my couch with my Greek tragedies
At my heels rests my warrior, Achilles.
In his mind, he builds monasteries.
While I read about the conquered seas

I feel like my mother understood the thunder.
Whenever he had a moment with my father,
Maybe he had a glimpse of peace.
While he looked up at my mother's face