When one of them moved through the center of Selefkia
just as it was getting dark -
moved like a young man, tall, extremely handsome,
the joy of being immortal in his eyes.,
his hair black and perfumed –
the people going by would gaze at him,
and one would ask the other if he knew him,
if he was a Greek from Syria, or a stranger.
But some who looked more carefully
would understand and step aside;
and if he disappeared under the arcades,
among the shadows and the evening lights,
going toward the quarter that lives
only at night, with orgies and debauchery,
with every kind of intoxication and desire,
they would wonder which of Them it would be,
and for what suspicious pleasure
he’d come down into the streets of Selefkia
from the August Celestial Mansions.
C.P. Cavafy Collected Poems