BULL   FIGHTING
(WITH A CLASSICAL TOUCH)
                  * By Raj Nandy*
(I)
The Minoan Civilization of ancient Greece,
Was well centered in the Aegean island of Crete;
And around 1600 BC this civilization had peaked!
Seeing their frescoes, and paintings on potteries
and vase,
Scholars concluded that ‘bull-jumping’ was
perfected as a gallant art!
Those jumpers grabbed the bull’s horns, -
And receiving momentum from its violent
head-****,
Vaulted over its back in a somersault,
To land on both feet to break their fall!
I was spell bound by Minoans courage and agility,
Their acrobatic feats performed with such
dexterity!
Those bulls were not killed and no blood was shed,
Some acrobats might have been injured instead!
What a shame for our bull fighters of date!

(II)
Today bull fighting has become a popular sport,
Where the bull gets slaughtered amidst loud applaud!
I recall those Roman amphitheaters that remained
jam-packed,
When the Gladiators performed their fatal acts!
But even those Gladiators had a chance to survive,
Our cornered bull has no place to hide!
Friends, to see blood is an age old thrill,
But none would like to see their own blood spilled!

(III)
Our Matador today is like a popular Rock Star,
While the bull becomes a martyr in the pit by far!
The bull’s mighty horns are sharp and strong,
Can lift up a man like a rag doll!
But when the Picador lances the bull’s ****,
The bull never gets a fair deal and jumps!
Next the Matador waves his ‘muleta’- a red cape,
The bull makes a final charge but cannot escape!
I wonder if the bull sees red!?
The Matador then amidst much pomp and applaud,
Spikes the neck severing the bull’s spinal cord!
He is greeted by flowers and cheers of ‘Ole’! ‘Ole’!
Let us learn from those Ancient Minoans, -
That's all I have got to say!
                           - by Raj Nandy

Ever envisaged an island situated in the huge crater of a volcano?
That's Santorini - aptly fitting the description of a touristy soprano,
Fondly described by many as the supermodel of the Greek islands,
It's scenic location is as if crafted by Greek gods, in the uplands

As an archipelago of five volcanic islands, it is located in the Aegean sea,
The island is a head-turner for scenic beauty that makes one scream in glee,
Multicolored cliffs and whitewashed edifices add to the panoramic grace,
Candy-colored houses and paved paths lend to a milieu that's hard to replace

Adorned with black, red and white beaches, Santorini is a waterfilled crescent,
The much pleasing hue of the clear turquoise sea is a tribute to nature's accent,
Volcanic pebbles, spectacular rock formations lace into impressive lunar landscapes,
The breathtaking caldera and the island's geomorphology are sheer dreamscapes

The blue domes of Santorini that bedeck the Aegean Sea are iconic,
As picturesque architectural marvels, they are superlatively masonic,
Perched atop whitewashed churches, they are picture postcard perfect,
The vibrant blue hue contrasting the stark white buildings, seems so correct

Tourists throng the narrow streets and pathways to soak in the photogenic view,
The agonizing wait to gain access to vantage spots is forgotten while in the queue,
The spectacular sight is truly mesmerizing to leave us in a state of awesome wonder,
That it is an incredibly popular Instagrammer's delight, leaves little cause for wonder

Viewing the sunset from Oia is an unforgettable experience that tourists savor,
The energy of the sweeping panoramic landscape is so palpable that one must aver,
The fiery sun sinking into the sea within the caldera remains etched in memory,
Its' the exclamatory chatter of the crowd's praise that shakes one out of a reverie

A visit to the archaeological site of Akrotiri merits high recommendation,
As Greece's version of Italy's Pompeii, it is of noteworthy consideration,
The ruined city sadly buried by a volcanic eruption, holds a lot of history,
As home to the ancient Minoans, now an embellishment of Greek touristry

The ruins depict how people lived in two- and three-storey houses in 1500 BC,
Replete with balconies, underfloor heating, indoor toilets that one can still see,
Remnants of the city's painted frescoes and sculptures are a visual treat,
That such conceptual skills existed in the then Bronze age, is no mean feat

The quality of furniture and ceramic wares bears testimony to Akrotiri's prosperity,
That the people were able to make their own wine, is testament to their dexterity,
Visitors will be impressed by the acumen and farsightedness of the Minoan township,
That was so cruelly terminated by volcanic ash engulfing the town, ending in hardship

Oia's promenade stretches along the whole town with the caldera's breathtaking views,
Rows and rows of shops on either side flaunt souvenirs, boutiques with lots to choose,
Jostling crowds interspersed with multilingual chatter render a touch of street glamour,
As people flood the shopping streets post-sunset view, be prepared to overlook the clamor

The island's capital Fira, is perched on the Caldera's top edge, above sea level,
Stunning views of the Aegean Sea leave visitors awed and a just reason to revel,
Recommended daytime strolls in the scenic alleys fill one with joy and harmony,
An array of restaurants, cafes, bars and clubs adds spice to the nightlife cacophony

Greek islands are in a league of their own when it comes to planning exciting getaways,
Without bias, one can claim that Santorini tops the list with several visit takeaways,
Greece is also famous for it's gourmet food, friendly people and charming hospitality,
By the end of the visit, you realize the multifarious reasons for the island's popularity

O God you created all these things
The Minoans were from 1400 to 600 BC the Etruscans from 800 to 100 BC
You build up and pull down
Don't you know the Etruscans had flush toilets
The Minoans had palaces
They have come and gone
Mighty trading powers
Now it remains for our civilizations because we are here
In a little while we too will be no more
The wind stirs the waters
All man's civilization passes away
But you Lord remain

Sibifus parable of the Light: “in a dark box was Sibufus, under a vile phoneme of resistance as the Hellenic soldiers prepared to attack and redouble the efforts of a final counterattack. Sibufus was enraptured by a maiden named Artemis in whom he took refuge, she molded with her hands the lanterns of the night with the lamps of lychnos that pierced the soul of Sibifus and her gaze when Artemis was exasperated listening to her exclaim in the thickest darkness, in a hiss in the form of words, images and strict shadows, which he romanticized in all those who wandered with Lychnos at night, concealing his offspring and finding hemispheres of day and night in a plane of darkness. Artemis not being sleepy at night, became angry with the goddess Nix, snatching a dream with mead from her and depositing him in the palace at night, but in darkness, confusing the dream with creative and fantasy death with Sibifus, of which he is locked in a box near the visions that hit Artemis's window. In the hinges that glistened when he tried to open them, shades of gloom shared in the native darkness making little chance of being close to each other, Sibifus was always condemned to a romanticism presided over by the imprisonment of his voice, but if he could whistle, Artemis enjoyed his freedom when he went out to observe him through the window of every spring. Sometimes the Thuellai would stop flowing, she being able to bring her eardrums closer to the tones, when he whistled with splendor, magnifying himself many times to reach his court, when he often told him to feel sad because the world was aging him, remaining within his whistles cast on a young night. When Artemis listened to him, believing that she felt him ..., sometimes she answered him with the sighs of an infant running through the Aristotelian teachings, of which they were always late, but with great courage from his high spirit that awaited him from his rose window, knowing very well little that awaited him, although the darkness of the night was hidden behind the messages of his phonemes and whistles, frequently in his poor heart that was encouraged in locution for something better, to see the new face and voice of Sibifus, but nowhere Capitol fire that made him understand his words crossed with uncrossed whistles. Until from the underworld the voice of Sibifus emerged making everything reality together with his real voice, whistling and singing as many times as necessary, so that his seduced could hear him and no evil would extend a lost whistle, less to a voice exonerated from crying by the darkness of the night. Something of littleness in his neuroanatomy automated him from a loving language through the streets of discernment that he learned with melodic frequency between monodies of hemispheres cut by the edge of his voice, but not from a hiss, denouncing in him capacities of cortical dysplasia that diagnosed him of maleficent gray substance of his cortex, leaving him at the mercy of an epilepsy, which always and in all the will of the ceremonial in Sibifus recurred. In dualities they bathed in the ceremonial of ablution and holy water, known as loutra, always prowling all the skies and lavender fields of Patmos, with Minoans whistling in the distance of Darkness and in a night of devotion, in a Lutrophor that from a vessel that circulated from hand to hand and that brought them water for their nuptial bath, Sibufus making a mistake, taking it through the orbit of the funerals and the regional area, instead of going for their nuptial trousseau, being imprisoned one of the other in his celibacy, which later was transferred into the Loutra with his hands, and Sibufus as well, but fertilizing himself in the sounds of a whistle beyond the light and the first layer of the earth, not being able to hear them in a low voice, or in full darkness that from afar seems to call them "

(Prócoro, takes their hands one with another and begins to return to his cell, letting the monosyllables of the night be silenced and carry him beyond the darkness, losing himself in the sounds that were moving away from him. The night is silent, but emits whistles that speak of love that nothing and no one understands, and less remotely from where the light will come)