My village, you are small, picturesque, hamlet
in the edge of Gortynia.
My eyes fill with tears when I look at you,
I mourn for the devastation
that I see everywhere,
when I see your houses,
wandering in your streets.
Your vineyards have become barren,
your olive trees don’t bear fruit
and in your yards flowers do not bloom
in the flower pots.
It was, in the past, the blessed years,
when all your windows were wide open.
Now, my beautiful village,
your roads are closed
and a small number of villagers
walk in your places.
Bitter memories in my mind
and how can I heal them?
But I wish you, my village Zounati,
to come to life again.
To open your houses again,
make your yards green
and fill your streets
with children’s voices.
