Istanbul Poem by Chris Zachariou

Once you begged for absolution
but now you straddle seven hills.

Frenzied 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 for 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.

A 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'.