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Kabul by bashka jacobs

Article Submitted By: BashkaJacobs
Date: Thu, 22 Sep 2011 Time: 3:55 PM

 

  Kabul a grey city of red earth in a landscape of pitted mountains. Standing at the edge of Kabul looking towards the sky I saw a camel caravan      come out of the dust              faces were covered                but I could easily                 make out the shape of a thin women                           wise breast was covered                       with metal coins                        that heaved with every breath she took             her face was partially covered                       and around her like a pool of blood                   lay a red cloth                     she smiled her eyes crinkled with dirt             and my feet went like water          and I blushed              I was in the presence of a desert queen                 she saluted me                acidhead hippie               escapee from san Francisco’s haywire children of  miasma colored dreams                                       I stood and watched as the mist burned away and could feel beneath me the  rhythmic  chant of animals and men dismounting                       it rolled into the earth  like a murmur and a roar I had never heard before                            and my mind  tangled with the vision  like a hibiscus vine that clung to             the minaret where                       the morning calls to prayer brake the silence at five a.m.                                            She commanded the camels and their riders with a wave of her hand and the noise dissolved              just as night suddenly shrinks back in Kabul and your bathed in the stunning white of fresh mountain air                   she stood                    among the odors of food and fire and made her way towards me with her layers and layers of cloth                  she came close enough me that I could inhale her                     and her short bitter laugh             she pointed to my large square Woolworth earrings             and I undid them and held out my hand in an offering                                   she in turn unfastened what I thought to be her dowry around her neck and  put i on me so it lay                on my chest like a coat                    of protective  mail.                         The audacity i had felt in my green leather boots                  the power of my to the floor white rabbit coat that i had crossed the Bosphorus in and threaded my way thru Iraqi, Iran to reach Kabul                suddenly was lost only wonder was left                             I continued my roll towards India like a thistle on the wind   suddenly awake touching like            a talisman the necklace and the spirit from a women                  who began my teaching   of endless change

About the Author

Bashka no longer wears green boots or rabbit coats, those rest in third hand stores waiting till some other crow auditions for the job of crossing overland to elsewhere.


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Word Count: 388
Submitted: Thu, 22 Sep 2011 Time: 3:55 PM