Otradom Pelogo Poems

I landed one day at the Dubai International Airport, checked in, and started a short vacation, which led me into the back sit of a taxi, where I began to search for a hotel; Dubai is as reasonable as it is beautiful, and thus the cab driver and I began our search from the most eloquent, which I doubt I could have afforded, to anyone that had a room for the night, and it didn't take too long, or truly only a few tries, before he suggested a place that he knew about, of course by now; The Ambassador Hotel on Naif Rd. (named of hotel changed...) in the heart of the Deira District. Like, I guess, New York would be the best example of the taxi paradise, where you'll find people from just about every country you can think of, driving and taking you to your destination, and thus, I have had memorable rides from men, and I'm certain the majority of them are from Dubai, India or Pakistan, and the surrounding countries. If the statement, which I have certainly used many times before, would fit anywhere more appropriate, it would be here, which is, 'I couldn't go any further without them', of course, either in the city of Dubai or, here as I sit and write.

Our relationship started shortly after I got there, and which I soon found out, that these guys do more than just drive a taxi, and without a doubt, more than entertain as they make a minimal attempt at it, excuse the pun on the former, taking an extra step in seeing that they not only do their job well, but being more of a diplomat, at the least, at the latter of making you feel at home while taking you to your stop. Later that night I struggled out of my hotel and tried to shake off a burnout, and not take the four or five days that it takes to recuperate, which is approximately the whole of a short vacation, if not the half of a long one; and thus it must have manifested itself to the taxi driver. I was looking for a nice quiet café or even a bar somewhere that would be close to formal; and not explicitly, but telling the taxi driver something close to this, and he said sure and headed down the road, where the car door, after paying him, opened, and I knew before walking up the driveway, that he somehow knew just where I didn't want to go. I walked on side of the garden area, where the chef was cooking a small meal outside for a few guests, while others were casually sitting quietly having a drink listening to nice, soft music, shaded from the traffic several paces away by a row of freshly watered trees and trimmed hedges, making a beautiful clear desert-night seem even more romantic. Instead of joining them, I decided to walk up the path, where stenciled on the glass, read a sign that said, Irish Pub; I'm not sure if I would have thought of going to an Irish pub the first night or so, on my first vacation in the Middle East. But this is, before I go further, the evening, and it would be unfair to say this without saying more about these guys; the taxi drivers of Dubai, and that it would be impossible to have an enjoyable stay there without their assistance. I was at my hotel, and thus heading out to tour the city. You'll soon find out that I literally do just that; tour the city, which means, if not taking off walking for four or five hours, some days easily, jumping on either cable car, train, and here in Dubai, I would have jumped on the bus once having the taxi driver bring me to the center of downtown, where I would usually start. Telling him my plans, he suggested that I start at Jumeirah Beach, and never having been there before, I said okay. A thirty minute drive and I was now, like the Irish Pub, standing in the lobby of probably one of the better hotels in Dubai, where after paying for a ticket inside, I decided, after not bringing shorts with me, to bypass the pool where a group of gentlemen sat, having a cold drink and talking, though I must say that I hadn't seen a pool where the bar stools were attached to the bottom and you could have a drink without having to ask the waiter for a towel; so after a warm wave from some of the guest, either being friendly, or politely noticing my surprise, as to where I ended up this time, not turning around, I headed down to the bar, ordered a cold bottle of mineral water, where I sat for a few moments watching the windsurfers, sunbathers and children walking around having fun, while, like myself, everyone else sat around with cold drink and just enough on the mind to make it a nice and pleasant setting. Therefore, still not ready to leave, I walked over, got a towel from the attendant at the towel both, and set on side of the rest of the sunbathers, and enjoyed the fact that, the taxi driver knew that I would only have seconds to make the transition from taking a long walk, to stretching out under a nice summer's sun at the edge of the beautiful blue waters of the Arabian Gulf.
...

Muhammed, from Pakistan, whose face I've become quite familiar with, and whose conversation, each time we meet, is welcoming. This is the Deira district of Dubai, and getting to know someone is a pleasure; a generous imperative, creating the feeling of being at home, though I'm sure they wonder why this is my favorite place when Dubai is such a grand city, and there are many western hotels, though I've only stayed in one or few others; the Al Bustan, the Millennium and the Holiday Inn, since first coming here on several trips back and forth, as I said, a friendly and cordial hello, making the feeling of familiarity appropriate. The waiter, a younger guy; and though we don't know one another's name, (I apologized today to someone, explaining that I may shortly forget, after being told, but no disrespect intended,) and we could, after today, see one another passing buy on any street in the US and say hi, forgetting that we either don't, or should I say, do know one another.

When I had first gotten there, to the Ambassador, I stopped in the waiting area of the lobby and sat down just to think about how I would plan my next few days stay there, with no agenda except to do as much as I possibly could. I met a few guys there, it's a very diverse city, so you could try all day, and probably not get it right, where everyone is from, but can figure out what they are doing; a hot cup of Turkish coffee or tea, a cigarette or shisha; the water bubble pipe with flavored tobacco, a sandwich or a game of pool; the cordial male gathering place, though frequented by as many women; and I have enjoyed seeing them, the social bonding coffee shops, on the east coast; where you can walk in for a hot drink on a cold day, a donut or sandwich, where the older guys are sitting down, reminiscing and spending time with old friends. And as time went on, I eventually, after becoming the familiar stranger, had occasional and brief conversations over a game of pool, even playing a couple of games with the chef and of course the locals who walk in from time to time.
...

I didn't, of course, once again, catch my plane on time, I think that I was about three or four days late before heading out. But the night before I left, as if I was living a nightmare or had just awaken from a dream, I walked into the café after having come in for the evening to have my late cup of coffee, which sometimes is from sunrise to sunrise, where I then looked around the place, and a room that, as I said has equally as many women as men sitting there, talking, eating, drinking, they don't serve alcohol; a soft drink or tea, etc., playing video games or sitting with friends, and quickly, though I wouldn't, and where at least until this very moment, say this is one of my ulterior motives for frequenting the place; to see a beautiful face, when I suddenly realized that there wasn't one single woman in the café. I thought it peculiar as I sat there and tried to ponder on this event, but couldn't figure out why, nor could I, maybe because of the shock, ask any of the men that either worked there or were sitting there as usual, where had they gone; though they seemed not as surprised as I was. I took it as an extraordinary coincidence, and went up to my room for a few hours before deciding to go out for supper, knowing that I would have gone back to sleep and would have awakened from the nightmare that I was now having, and things would have returned back to normal.

For some reason, though still shocked, I was not surprised that it was one of those dreams that you don't wake up from as I surreptitiously glanced into the lobby of the café while either deciding to investigate further or let the momentum of confusion pull me out of the door as I still tried to put together the pieces of this dilemma, that would have to change, at least, I'm hoping, by the time that I left the next day. That evening brought with it the same dilemma as the previous evening, as I'm still now forcing myself from one room to the other; from the café, to the lobby, into the elevator and sitting myself down and staring out of the window for answers, but this time the birds brought me no comfort, and the next morning would not release me from my torment of not seeing a group of women that I had so quickly, though it has been almost a year that I have been visiting there, fallen in love with.
...

The Interviewer has come
And there is no time to prepare
There was none yesterday
And tomorrow we don't even dare
...

Massif (UAE)
Part I

Massif, a young boy who I befriended while there in Dubai at the Diplomat, while sitting and having a soda, stopped by for a moment after Lela asked me to show her my computer. He said hello, and began to talk with me as we sat there, I almost automatically grabbed and sat him on my knee, as if he were one of my nephews, but hesitated, maybe worrying too much about appropriate customs; trying not to be the rude stranger; and rather erring on the side of caution, and regretting it later. Yet we talked for a while until I ran upstairs and brought the computer down and showed the two of them; Lela and Massif, some of the things that I used it for.
...

Mohmmed (Iraq)
(And The Men of Mesopotamia)

If I wasn't heading to Europe, I would have brought it back and given to one of the young boys that we say hello to when driving from one place to another down the streets of Iraq. A lot of times we are driving slowly enough to throw candy out of the window; and a lot of times I'll grab some of the chocolate sports bars from off of the table, a sandwich or fruit, sneaking it into my pocket and hopefully will not have eaten them by the time we are ready to pull out. Sometimes they will, when we are moving slow enough, or have stopped for a few seconds waiting to cross a bridge or fix a flat tire or something like that, the little boys and girls, they are more enduring than adults as we know, the energy and enthusiasm of a child, something we always long for, will walk up and ask for food, water or candy, and the majority of the times you'll see whatever the driver has go flying out of the window. I usually stop by the PX and grab a case of soda, or some snacks, (unless we're leaving at night when there will be basically no one on the streets) , and take whatever I have or what I want need before making it to the next stop, as I said, usually something to drink or snack on, and either throw or hand it to any one of them standing out there. Though, during the day, you know that there will be children lined up and down the streets, so bringing something to hand to them is usually premeditated, though you don't know when or where they will be, and yet they are always truly grateful for what's given. There is still caution for many reasons, besides the admonishment of not to throw anything out of the window at all, usually for the safety of the children out there, running up to get what is thrown out. So it takes a few faces to reach over and grab what's in arms reach; a bottle of water, a can of soda or some candy and throw it in the direction of a group of excited children.
...

A fervid quest, but one that emanates a languid face
Until each part of the dream begins to give it life
And the more hands that reach into the vat, only
Quickens the pace
...

Haiette's Song
One night I was lucky enough, even for the first time, to sit down and talk with a woman who said that she was from Africa, and when asking what country in Africa, she said that she was from Nigeria. The way she was dressed and how stylishly sexy she looked, I could have seen her on the cover of Mademoiselle or Vogue, the New York City dancer or choreographer on a hiatus in the Netherlands. With a creamy complexion who said she was Nigerian, and with a natural Arabic accent, I'm not sure if my mind ever put the pieces together. Even a body that I had never honestly seen before; where there should have been muscle definition, it seemed smooth, milky and soft. She told me her name was Haiette, she said that it's an Arabic word that means ‘life' before she got up and left, and I guess like the women above, all I will have of her and them, is a lifetime of a wonderful meeting, one that will have, excuse the expression, saved my life, least made it complete.

(This is an excerpt from the novel Stasis & Poreris...
...

A little exasperated, he walks into a bar and sits down to have a drink, a few moments later a group of guys are discretely inviting him over to join them, and because he is still just waking up to the city and it's lights, he subtly turns away, but then realizes that there are only guys in the bar, though where he last erred, were blocks away. But a couple strolling a small infant walks in and asks for a menu, though wondering if they decided like he did, to just stop in at random into a gay bar, or the last couple of dilemmas are still magically playing with him. He tells the bartender, who smiles at him, thanks, and heads back out into the streets that are filled with people, trying to remember was it a ladder that you're not supposed to walk under as he finds himself walking under a piano being lowered down by a rope from about four stories above by a group of men on the ground.

Yet for some reason where there are usually beautiful women sitting and waving out of the windows, there seems to be none, and he tries to associate it with the time of the day; it's nice outside and a perfect day for a lot of tourists to pick this as being a good spot to spend it. Poreris walks farther, and is practically at the end of the Red Light District; the very last block, when he realizes that the Gods will rule this hour with their facetious toying with him, that will later, while in retrospection, turn into despair. Now the crowd that was once there is also gone, the noise has disappeared and he is now feeling himself being more alone than when he had first gotten there. Half a block to go, but instead of walking away frustrated, he looks up and sees a young lady waving at him, who is as excited as he, and standing up and coming to the door to invite him inside. The past dilemma has no effect on this young lady; she is beautiful, with brown eyes and long black hair, a pretty smile and perfectly plump. And instead of closing the door behind him, he invites her to the restaurant across the street.
...

I incorporated Larissa's Song (which was taken straight out of my journal, word for word, written shortly after visiting Paris in 2005) into the novel Stasis & Poreris. In this chapter Larissa is sitting with a group of people waiting on an interview for a new job that that they all applied for due to being in transition (a new phase of their life...) But this interview will be held on the realm of their (imagination) . The interviewers had planned on putting them under a trance once the interview started to incorporate them into their world, a world that will test their morals, virtues and even issues that they consider unlawful.

But while waiting for the interviewers to come and get them, Parallax, a young man about the age of fifteen begins to hand out gifts to them, ironically, gifts that he recently used to rob innocent people of their wealth without them knowing how. Yet this is what's left over after deciding to change his life and go on the interview with the rest of his new friends.
...