Thursday, June 15, 2006


Within the ancient pearl of the south,
its golden beggary stirs.
Its crowded market square,
a tigress-lilting -
plucked strings,
the souk kimakhin teases
my handsome affair.

Hypnotically swayed,
spiced breath
wafts from framed turrets,
to drift foolish fancies -
inlaid beyond tiled spires.

pleased against sandstorms
the taut settling breeze,

caught in echoed chants
between darkening sandalwood entries.
For only in this abrupt present,
does being haunt its reliquary of mysteries
time forgot to classify

Ancient, robust,
beyond the amber flicker
in shadowy slits of charred waxy flesh,
these half burnt candles sparkle
within the halls of Koubba el Baâdiyin
where the weary and the traveled
tacitly commune anoint draped heads
serenely dipped into black-beetled abyss
each wordless ghost,

one titled prayer.

@Nick Zegarac 2006 (all rights reserved).


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