1465, The Navigator’s Compass

                                                                                                  Conquistadors    

In the year Velazquez drew his first breath in Spain,

The others were already sharpening steel for the kill.

They craved the gold that pulses in a vein,

He craved the stars that bent the sailor’s will.

They turned the forests into ash and hollow bone,

A tide of wolves beneath a burning sun.

But he stood quiet, standing all alone,

Refusing to finish what the greed had begun.

They were the darkness drowning out the shore,

He was the silence measuring the tide.

They mocked the maps he sketched, ignored his lore,

For he had no hunger for the blood they implied.

They’ll turn to dust, their names a fading stain,

Their violence lost in time’s relentless swell.

But he remains, beneath the open main,

Writing a world that had no need for hell.

 to be continued

________________________________________

 ELENCHUS... A Trial of History"    (12)

PUBLICATION IDENTITY & CREDITS

Original Text & Inspiration:

Panayotis V. Mataragas (Rotterdam)

The foundational vision, drafted at the crossroads of European history.

Language Editing & Adaptation:

Kellene G. Safis (Chicago)

Refining the rhythm and pulse through a definitive American lens.

Digital Editing & Formatting:

Cathy Rapakoulia Mataraga (Piraeus)

The architectural assembly and final form at the Great Port.

______________________________________________________

 ELEGHOS... at history