Konstantinos Konstantinidis – Amphiktyon
A brother to the Greek stands near,
It starts from Troia
yet in his company turns foolish;
division he never abandons,
and the foreigner he calls to judge his fate.
He may even embrace his enemy,
so long as party passions align.
And the outsider arrives — never for free —
to tear the heart from the oath-breaker.
In civil war we trembled;
brother rose against brother,
with neither mercy nor grace,
not even a prayer for the dying.
Some summoned Athens,
others cried out to Sparta,
while Rome lay in wait,
seeking the moment to bind and undo us.
“Democracy,” said some — “oligarchy,” said others,
yet in the end, we fell once more into chains.
In peace, a people flourishes;
in civil war, it grows savage.
Hatred awakens, conflict spreads,
and blood answers blood:
brother against brother, child against father,
while Strife casts reason into shadow.
Guard your words, and whom you trust;
reveal not the depths of your belief.
Whether red or blue,
the slaughterhouse awaits —
I have lived it, in occupation and in war.
Trust not even the sun;
hold fast your tongue —
for silence is the wiser path.
Civil war feeds on passion;
treachery grows and kills.
With doctrines they intoxicate the crowds,
bidding them forget their homeland
for the mirage of some distant ideal.
To the “rams” they grant power and gold,
to the “sheep” enclosure and silence.
Crime is crowned as courage,
prudence condemned as betrayal,
and reason stands powerless.
National claims are sacrificed
upon the altar of party rule.
In the squares — slogans, not dialogue;
the rational is suspect, the furious exalted,
the wise dismissed as unfit.
A world undone by madness.
Parties like factions of thieves,
bound by greed and quiet lawlessness.
Their unity is complicity,
their offering — the homeland itself.
They promise equality, speak of merit,
yet once in power — disorder reigns:
privation for the many, ease for the few.
They govern through vengeance,
feigning service to the people,
while serving only themselves.
Thus begins civil war —
with words that sound noble.
Dark were those days;
even the sun withdrew in shame.
Brother slew brother,
and division took monstrous form.
“Patriot” or enemy —
a word both vague and deadly.
And the people, lost between,
knew not where to stand.
With fear and betrayal as guides,
one could be sent to Acheron with ease.
Interrogations, persecutions, camps —
a land divided: mountain and city,
East set against West.
And while we should have claimed our rights,
we turned upon each other.
Thus Greece was wounded to the depths —
and endured, though at a bitter cost.
The blood of our children was not in vain.
Never again civil war.
Never again such strife.
Even within parties,
let a new order rise to end it.
Yet factions linger still,
a hidden war beneath the surface;
progress remains in shadow,
as cunning discord stifles every step forward,
while the politician gathers his coin.
Amphiktyon – Retired Major General Konstantinos Konstantinidis
Writer, Member of the Society of Greek Writers
http://www.amphiktyon.blogspot.com
https://www.amphiktyon.org