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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!”