where mansions of pashas
once stood among quiet hills
harems and opium dens
gardens of grand viziers
where Ottoman princes plotted
men in tea rooms
watch her quietly pass
a scarfless girl dark haired
her desires dream sequestered
men’s eyes reaching out to touch
what only eyes here may touch
her sandaled feet wandering
deep shadowed Topağaci
streets cobbled narrow
stones obelisk shaped
once targets for sultan’s archers
in these plane tree hills
where Atatürk played körebe
where trams rails now jaw
through Taksim Square
clattering Beyoglu to Galata Bridge
Golden Horn lies beyond
neighborhoods like foreign lands
a dying culture’s melancholia
where her eyes search far
distant landscapes Anatolian plains
beyond the Bosphorus
where women still hide
their countenances behind scarves
dreams still unmeasured
even today
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