To the One Who Called Me Her Younger Brother

Was it an early-summer’s fair day’s afternoon He rode his tall white hairy horse To the Rocky Mount’s top And enjoyed in numinous silence The old city’s beautiful view. Or it was a chilly winter’s morning He was sitting with his beloved In the scribed-stones’ closet, of Carved wooden windows and doors Covered with colored thick carpet curtains, And the birch-bark’s roof. Bathed in warm water, her silky curls played With her glowing cheek Her embroidered velvet’s pharan bore roses’ fragrance. She was serving him herself with Samovar, Kehwa with corn-bread In his Egyptian gold-tinted goblet. And giving a sounding kiss on brow For his every slow sip. The great king’s greater king-father Thought of the Grand Mosque In the ancient city’s Centre; Erected of several hundred soaring-cedars’ pillars Supporting the lofty worked-wood’s cover. On tall towers Thousand pigeons shall nest And eagles shall love loud neighing; And on hundred high-hanging windows In autumns’ forenoons, bask in sun. There tens of thousands shall together pray And a blue-watered pool in its interior With high springing fountains Shall engage, inspire the country-boys Following their fathers On the festivals’ days. And see the sweet coincidence Beauty upon Beauty! You and the Mosque Occur at the same place!