Archive | June, 2010


17 Jun

Also Known As

My lover has an ocean flooding

Through him, filling both banks

East and west of his heart, and at midnight

The descending moon dances on

The backs of wild glistening

Blue dolphins


He pulls the crescent moon down

From the sky and places it in

His pocket and I can see it

From time to time

When we bobble on boats

To the gushing wind.

The wind blows through his narrow

Sculptured cobblestone hips

And I feel I could walk forever

Belted to his slippery sea sprayed slopes.

At times we stand and glance upon

His lost, flame haired love

‘Sofia’ some call her ‘Hagia’ since

She was so loyal and pure.

Even I, can sense her greatness.

And reminiscing we walk

His sculptured arms as pillars

Firmly entrenched around my waist

As he tells me of the love of Hero and Leander

Of Chalcedon, the hippodrome and

Of Meshnun and Leila.

And suddenly he turns me

Spinning under the Sufic wool of his garment

Cosmic mana fills  and I am seized by

The elaborate seductive designs

Of his arched blue kiss.

My lips reach the dome of his thoughts

Grasping towards the heavens

And towards the divine

A timeless sigh is placed upon our souls

He bows before the silence,

Towards the emptiness of the qibla

Surrounded by a bouquet of

Carpets, tiles and the One


And at night his eyes like stars

Invite me to enter the galaxy of

Rhythms and otherworldly dreams

As we waltz to the sound of the ney

On Sundays he dresses in the

Iconic compassion of a passing empress,

Soft gilded purity, seen through the silver and gold

Sustaining tesserae of the Madonna

And where is the child?

He is out sailing ships in his backyard.

He strides ferrys catching disillusioned lovers.

And waits under the bridge with his nets

The cycle of souls lost, regained

The tides of love

Never easy, fair, clean or clear.

And when I stare off into his Seljuk eyes

I see the outline of his soul,

So sharp like daggers, poles, minarets

Protruding from a shoreline of undulating hills

His ‘skyline’ is more beautiful

Than the famous yellow rose itself.


At night I rest my head

Against his belly, his fanning

Breath brings me sleep,

While the call to prayer awakens me

I whisper his name,

Byzantium, Constantinople, Nea Roma, Istanbul!

Groggy I try to hold him but my

Arms cant grasp him he is so vast?!

I fidget to find him, and as

I reach for his turban I fall

Out of bed

Naked , drunk and alone……yet full of awe.

%d bloggers like this: