Magic of the night

Amidst the tight rapid drums in the circle
Of song and dance of the native tongue,

And the skyward call of the pigeon tamer
Robed like a tall tree with white flowers in bloom,

And the silly strings of various languages from
Drink store owners in their wagon, fortress of fruits,

And the musk of horses paired in a queue
Awaiting passengers and breathing against its ribs,

And the smoke from unnamed meat over fire clinging
To clothes of diners and wanderers and stings the eye,

And the little lamps like floating wishes where
A woman sets up shop tempting with pictures of henna,

And the carts of desserts growing cold under
The watch of a man, a mother’s son, for a willing customer

— Amidst it all there is privacy in the darkness
Of and un-electricised moonless sky
And the noise of life writhing, scowling then laughing.
It is exotic and seductive, this strange night