Istanbul - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Istanbul's Skyline

Once you begged for absolution

but now you straddle seven hills.

Frenzied red Arabian horses

swirl at your open gates

your porcelain-white limbs
are kissed by the broken moon
and you fastened your sainthood
to the bottom of the sea.

My Queen,
have we not met in a brothel once before

and did you not take my silver then?

In your back streets and bazaars

the red flower and her crazy daughters

whirl inside the world of hookahs

dazed agas in shrouded brothels

lust for virgins with milky thighs

and plump boys made for fun.

Your slender fingers stroke the saz

dervishes chew on seeds and grow wild

and a skinny monk maimed by sin and virtue

prays for the resurrection of the Marble King.

The muezzin locked high in the holy tower

rests his pounding heart at the feet of God

and from his pit of pain and madness

sings to the world each at dawn

'God is great, Allahu Akbar, God is Great'.