View single post by RTurco | |||||||||||||
Posted: Mon Dec 4th, 2017 09:32 am |
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RTurco![]()
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The Western Wall is notes perfumed With a Love two thousand years wide. I accidentally brushed hands pressed With sweat and hope. The bazaar of Marrakech Is leather and sour sumac. The vendors’ ululations are My call to morning prayer. Though I haggle with no one, I am never alone. As I’m carried away in a whoosh Of motors, the streets of Trastevere Hold me tight and smell of tripe. A laundress with the voice of a toad Barks romanesco at a man From Bangladesh who hawks roses: They are both Rome to me. I can feel the cobblestones sinking, But my bigoli in salsa whisper In reassurance: There will always be A Venice nestled in my memories. The Prague Clock of the Old Town Square Sounds like the face of a friend As it rings out the places of the stars. The underground trains speed Toward Prosperity, with intercom Voices that are soothing to me. The salesmen of Soviet berets Sing dirges; their nostalgia Is their currency and their deceit. Prague is the city of the future Of the past. Cities without sight: Luna Parks for the mind Conceal the mysteries of the soul. Last edited on Mon Dec 4th, 2017 09:33 am by RTurco |
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