Of Demetrius Soter (162—150 B.C.)
All his expectations turned out wrong!
He imagined that he would do famous deeds,
that he would stop the humiliation
that oppressed his homeland since the Battle of Magnesia,
that Syria would become a strong nation,
with her armies, with her fleets,
with great castles and great wealth.
He suffered, and he felt bitterness in Rome
when he sensed in his friends’ talk,
the youth of great houses,
in all the politeness and refinement
they showed him the son
of King Seleucus Philopator
as he sensed that there was always a secret
indifference toward the Hellenized dynasties,
they had declined; they were not destined for serious works,
were not suitable to lead the people.
He went off on his own, outraged, and swore
that it was not at all the way they thought.
Look, he had the drive,
he would act, fight, and succeed.
If he could only find a way to reach Anatolia,
to manage his escape from Italy,
all this strength that he carries
in his soul, all this ardour
he would pass on to the people.
Ah, if he could only reach Syria!
He left his homeland at such a young age
he hardly remembers its face.
But in his mind, he always thought of it
as something sacred, which you approach on your knees,
as the vision of a beautiful place, a vision
of Hellenic cities and ports.
And now?
Now despair and grief.
The young men in Rome were right.
It is impossible. The dynasties that arose
from the Macedonian Conquest can’t survive.
Irrelevant: he tried,
he fought as much as he could.
And in his dark disappointment,
he thinks of only one thing
with pride; that, even in failure,
he showed the world the same invincible bravery.
The rest were dreams and futile efforts.
This Syria hardly looks like his homeland,
it is the land of Heracleides and Valas.
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 