The Bazaar can be fun
But get ready to run
When Tajiki bees come out from the sun.
But was it a bee?
Or was it Ali?
Who gave that sting - look at it, see!
Caledon, Simos and Peter were there,
Enjoying the sunny, Dushanbe air,
And laughing at my poor bee-stung bum
As it started to go more and more numb
It was the men who shopped up a storm that day
Shopaholic Omar had the most to pay
Dresses and gowns and hats and socks
Nuts and halva and those famous ‘rocks’.
But what would I buy my boyfriend back home?
Would he believe that Tajiki hills I did roam?
If all I brought back were some black cotton socks?
Or stories of bonfires and showers with shocks?
And then I saw it on one of the lines,
Some patterned long pants with black and grey signs,
‘It could look Tajiki!’ I desperately said
Although it’s from India with ‘Boston’ in red.
But time, as usual, was running quite short,
And brave Parvina looked terribly wrought,
Missions accomplished, sock industry shares
Back to camp, to show off our wares.
Heather! What a poem! It brought back the memories and left me with the astonishment of how talented you are ;)
Posted by: Farzaneh Sarafraz | October 20, 2005 at 04:34 PM
Glad you posted this, the sign of your magnifisence. I will be looking for you 'here', now that you are not here anymore. I miss you dahling.
Icklika lindlela....
Posted by: Ali G. | October 20, 2005 at 10:09 PM
Hi Heather! Great webblog, and nice poems! I like it very much! Good job, Heather! Keep going!
Posted by: Ravshan | October 21, 2005 at 10:35 AM
brilliant, echoes of Scarry in his lesser known "mauve period"
Posted by: D | November 16, 2005 at 12:52 PM