Tucked away amongst tombs and palaces I wander,
become one with exotic and frenetic.
Inhale lentil soup,
dried apricots piled nine feet high,
figs, snails, pumpkin seeds, dates,
splashing fountains, citrus trees, mosaics,
and fetid disguised with sprigs of mint.
Resist goat head, brains,
and snake charming vendors
from stall number eight,
dodge overloaded donkey carts,
duck into labyrinths of textiles, herbs,
metal work, silk and leather.
Brand my skin with henna
as musical notes ride swirling dust,
follow scents of warm flatbread, honey,
and fresh squeezed juice of orange,
loose myself in filtered light, unnavigable souks,
dead-ending in spicy reds, golds, browns,
rustic oranges, tropical greens, pulsating blues.
Unmindful if I ever find my way back.
by Margaret Bednar, updated September 16, 2104