BAHRAIN

There is the August heat to face,

when stepping out resembles

stepping in a slow roast,

sizzling searing

sand dust lies bone dry,

on parched land

and black robed,

faceless women

drift through

heavy heat,

to market stalls

of spice and silk,

magenta, turquoise, gold,

There are the palm trees,

languishing on stark white sand,

the green sea

and a poignant past

of pearls and simple life.

And then there are

the high rise works of art

and worldly malls,

cool for ardent expats

searching for a taste of home.

There is ambivalence;

a deep and complex blend

of bounty and the beauty

of the Call to Prayer.

the ancient and the new,

and seeking for the true

Bahrain.

UMM AL HASSAM



On the roofs of Umm al Hassam 

Pigeons dance at sunrise,

While a hundred slender cats

Resume their feline forage 

And the day warms up.

Early at the tandoor,

Scent of flat bread, furnace fresh,

Awaits the waking workers

As they raise the shutters on another day.

Sabah el-khair, Umm al Hassam,

Good morning, Mother of Seashells.

With your gaudy trade parade

Of Arabian high tec bazaars,

Laundromats, boutiques

And cold stores galore,

Herbal remedies, Aseel’s, Raseez

And shawarmer men, resilient in their

Sweltering booths

Until,

Beneath a bright moon,

Wise men take tea

And talk of how things

Used to be,

While a warm breeze

Whispers through the 

 Palm fringed villas

And flat roofed terraces

Of old Umm al Hassam.

Tisbah ala khair it says.

Good night,

Until the call to prayer.

As-salamu alaykum.

Peace be with you,

Mother of Seashells.