A Rusty Tale

Vasiliki Poula



A rousing dance bestirs the air
As light ripples into pleats
Floating in the darkness

Old she looms,
Wheeling round the thirsty plains
And the arid moor feels bleak
The trees grieve
Stripped of leaves and nests
Birds now filling a sky-shaped cage

On this turbid night,
The moon is raving mad
She weaves a shroud around the shadows
A web to catch the sighs,
For she is last in the succession
Doomed to rule
Yet the empire has already fallen
The power and glory, all gone

Sunset furnishes fables for the wretched
Luring songs from the ashes of the dead
The echoes of wrong become right
In the tongue of fiery conviction
Merely to hold on for dear life

Vasiliki Poula

I am a third-year Law student at LSE, where I am mostly interested in constitutional reform and the impact of the uncodified constitution on the judicial interpretation of statutes. When not reading around jurisprudence, I explore literature written or translated in Greek, English and French and re-visit pieces that have moved me.

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