This is written tonight in Istanbul where I am working for a week.


Istanbul


Like a lover with a story,
Like a wind with a tale,
I unfurl these faded dreams
To the sound of the aged city
And its tempting scents.

Once I was a young man
Lost in the alley's of Sultan Ahmet,
Marauding the days
Without a shine to name
Or a shame to pawn
Just before shredded curtains
Fell into the rolling Marmara
And the sentence fell.

Steep stories are told
Descending into Tophane
Looking for the Roma
That once rolled in from the East,
Captive Indian soldiers
Forced to defend Indian borders,
Captured by Pakistani armies,
Forced to move on
Fighting their way to Europe.

The music on the street is different,
The long haired travellers
Remain in a different time
When India by land
Wasn't obscured by religion,
Nor by it's misinterpreters.

I journey for all with a past,
For every one that still can hear
The sounds of mortal joy
Washing over streets of days
Without return.




Poetry by Bob
Read 745 times
Written on 2006-05-02 at 23:13

Tags Istanbul  Roma  Sultanahmet 

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