Ovidiu Bocsa Poet Imagism

Ancient Reveries

Each day, a red sun arises from the emerald river, 
In the acrobatic leap in the dark with watermelon smell.
In the evening, the pale moon it is dressed up in silver
 
By a dervish who changes it in a dome where he`ll dwell,
As prisoner of the unmovable being, just like Parmenides; 
The moving sands of the desert covered old Coptic monasteries; 
Between sky and sand, in old pajamas, the Sphinx and pyramids 
Breathe with the slow motion of the camels in ancient reveries
About tears and saints in white tents with summer’s distillation left: 
Koran’ effects unto communities’ lives with beauty were bereft. 

Museums and parks-cemeteries and ritual prayers in bitter Cairo I meet:

Under One single eye, invisible stranger I rest, in the hot night’s street.

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Casarah Nance July 30, 2014 at 9:05 PM I like that, invisible stranger, we all walk along the paths where history has walked before, and we are left to wander, pander and beautify it, great job ;)