Bukhara
Follow the silk road unwinding Copyright 1998 by Maurice Leiter Posted with permission
To a place of plentiful surprises
Where no one inquires or surmises
In which language you’re declining
Here the click of abacus arises
Near gowns impersonating Madras
Oh do not dare to ask the address
Just don a costume join the fracas
Does it really matter in this riot
If words emerge cacaphonous or tonic
When the world’s rush is supersonic
Only the catatonic long for quiet
Why even Khan’s famous deadly Tower
Dips camellike respecting tourist power
And all that fall amid the crying
Are mere daguerreotypes of dying
The jade rivers overflow tricolored
With cologne to lave on startled lovers
And throat-singers breathlessly catarrhal
Celebrate this life without a moral
Come morning we awaken darkly chastened
And vowing an end to lamentation
Flee to Tashkent or perhaps Bukhara
On bristles of laughter harsh as horror
10/23-12/16/96, 1/31/98
(based on Michael Mewshaw’s 10/26/96
NYTimes travel piece)
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