Philipopolis

My city is sacred, unique.

Its hills are places of mystery.

Lovers play hide-and-seek

With centuries and history.

Tourists never chance to understand

That they are an international audience –

God plays piano with his band

And the hills shake their souls and bodies.

You enter a pub and sit for a beer

And the person next seat looks astonishing:

“Cheers, my friend! Remember me, dear?

I am Philip the Macedonian.”

His armour seems to be heavier

Than your everyday suit.

Such are the emperors. Be clever

And just answer: “Salut!”