Author’s Note: My Muse was active… A dream I did not want to wake up from… someplace hot on a cold winter morning…
-Arrias
Spice Souq
I was buying shelled pistachios, Some cloves from Zanzibar,
And a pound of dried pear,
A jar of Tumeric, Nutmeg from Pemang,
When I saw her standing there.
A long-sleeved, white cotton dress, A matching wide brim hat,
Through the old spice souq she wandered,
Sage and Mace and Coriander, Frankincense and Myrrh,
She tested and she pondered.
Petite, lithe, she moved easily, tasting this and that,
Smiling pleasantly at nearly every thing,
I watched her, she was a vision, I was enthralled,
I saw she wore no ring.
A few words in Arabic, a few more in some other tongue,
Haggling over prices I presume,
A breeze came up, It passed through the souq,
I could smell her sweet perfume.
Mesmerized, I watched her, as she wandered among the stalls,
Slowly filling her canvas tote,
I followed at a distance, I wished for a chance to speak with her,
The words caught in my throat.
The merchants wanted their first sale, Before the day grew old and hot,
’Tis a humid breeze that comes off the creek,
An ounce of saffron from Persia, This merchant will be pleased,
She smiles, a blush reddens her cheek.
A pound of Cinnamon from Vietnam, Finest cumin from ancient India,
Some Vanilla from far Madagascar,
She pays the merchants, she loads her bag, Her driver patiently waits,
As she climbs into the car.
A golden blond, an angelic smile, Treasures of the Orient,
Gathered from all across Asia,
For sale in the old spice souq. Now nestled in the exotic blonde’s bag,
My Arabian Nights Fantasia.
Copyright 2022 Arrias
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