Beneath the sun where olives bend and gleam,
Two lands arise beside the same blue stream.
The Aegean breathes between their rugged shores,
Yet sings one song through open, ancient doors.
The bouzouki wails with oud’s soft reply,
While fingers snap beneath the evening sky.
A rhythm born of longing, joy, and fire—
The same lament, the same unquenched desire.
They dance in turns, the zeybek and syrtós,
With pride in step and passion in repose.
The swirling skirts, the claps, the sudden cries—
Two hearts that leap beneath familiar skies.
From baklava to lokum’s sugared grace,
Each plate reflects a shared and mingled place.
The honey drips through filo, warm and gold—
A history on every tongue retold.
The coffee, thick, in silence stirred with care,
Once called by name, now claimed by both as fair.
It matters not what label flags the cup—
The soul that sips will always drink it up.
The call to prayer and church bell often meet
On hills where goats and cypress roots compete.
In markets where the jasmine coils through spice,
The tongues may differ, yet the tone is nice.
The grandmothers with flour on their hands,
Still teach the art of dough that understands—
That bread must rise with laughter, sweat, and grace,
No matter if it bakes in this or that place.
The cradle songs, in minor tones, arise
With lullabies that hush the newborn’s cries.
So close in pitch, a stranger couldn’t tell
If it was sung in Greek or Turkish spell.
The tales of shadow puppets on the wall,
Of Karagöz or Karagiozis tall,
Still teach with jest the foibles of mankind—
A comic truth, in every age, aligned.
Why speak of war when gardens bloom the same?
Why fan old wounds when we can feed the flame
Of friendship kindled by a common feast—
Where every dish unites the West and East?
Let us not count the stones beneath our feet,
But break fresh bread where village cousins meet.
Let fiddles play and flutes resume their part—
Two nations joined by soul, by voice, by heart.
So may the wind across the ocean sing,
Not battles, but the peace that love can bring.
Not flags alone define where we belong—
But music, food, and stories shared in song.