Abu Dhabi Mosaic

The Corniche skirts
the bath-warm waters of the Gulf,
jewelled with elegant,
pristine office towers
that caress
a sere and scorching sky.

Mercedes and Lexus,
adorned with gold-plate trim,
sedately chauffeur
the descendants of the Bani Yas
through what, only a few decades past,
was a collection of tents
and mud huts
sprinkled across
the unforgiving sand.

At the Gold Souk
black-garbed women seek
golden adornment
that will remain hidden
beneath voluminous abbaya,
while their dark and canny eyes
flash through gold-threaded
full facial masks.

At the Sheridan,
a doorman folds back massive doors
that permit access
to yet another gold-plated Merc.
The occupant joins colleague
on an arrangement of embroidered cushions
on the marble floor
of the air-conditioned lobby.
A brazier of coals heats coffee
offered in traditional and ancient
desert hospitality.

Sparkling new pickup trucks
transport contemptuous dromedaries
whose racing skills will be tested
at the evening camel races.
To the south the hypnotic dunes
march relentlessly towards
the Rub al-Khali, the Empty Quarter,
where hides Uban,
the fabled lost city of Arabia,
beneath its timeless sands.

Beijing Morning

The dragon awakes.  Stretching, 
with a rattle of scales, he yawns. 
The sun, rising 
in the east, is red.*

At seven in the morning 
the Imperial City is alive 
beneath the lifting night shroud 
of coal smoke 
Japanese cars have replaced 
ten million bicycles.

The stone lions keep watch 
over Tien-an-min; 
in their snarls, surprise 
at Chang’An traffic. 
The masses sport Gucci, 
Dior, where once blue ruled. 
Hot breads, tea, and tai chi 
still prevail.

In the Western Hills 
the Buddhas watch, bells tinkling, 
a delayed Industrial Revolution 
struggling, growing.

In the compounds and factories 
where once loudspeakers preached 
Party lines, headlines in low fidelity, 
CD stereos play. 
MTV replaces the Red Book.
Children march in day care centres:
sailing the educational seas 
no longer depends on the Helmsman.*

The dragon, 
eyes weak with sleep, 
cannot yet see beyond his lair. 
Hunger rumbles in his vitals, 
and soon he must roam 
beyond his hills. 


* In the 1960s and early 70s, two of the songs heard most frequently over public loudspeakers throughout China were The East Is Red, and, Sailing the Seas Depends on the Helmsman (a reference, of course, to Chairman Mao).  jdf

On First Seeing Bermuda

Southeast breeze carries
scent of jacaranda,
eucalyptus,
oleander, and bougainvillea.

Houses of pastels
that breathe in gentle sunlight:
perfection set in
manicured lawns.

Accents attenuated
from the harsher Caribbean,
friendly voices 
greet, and smile.

From Gibb’s Hill,
a visual smorgasbord
tasting subtly, and sadly,
of Eden lost.

A Walk Through Chandni Chowk

A cornucopia of scents assail:
puris frying in hot oil,
rotting garbage,
incense and flowers,
exhaust fumes and hot metal,
beedi smoke,
and the unmistakable presence
of a public convenience.

From the Jama Masjid, the mullah
reiterates, for the third time,
his summons to the faithful.
A legless beggar wheels by:
did the treasure he stole from angry gods
warrant this Promethean reward?
Temple bells ring,
and the crowds surge unceasingly.

Psychedelic visions appear:
Toby jugs that live;
saffron headware crowns,
shading eyes that view
far different horizons.
Ancient gods walk the land,
indifferent to the caste
of their weary avatars.

Pondering, in the shadow
of the Red Fort,
the hubris of those who sought
to civilize the land
where the Bo-shaded Gautama
attained Nirvana long ago:
where a lover's tribute became
a wonder of the world.