In Old Istanbul, the religion is really tavla, backgammon.
He had, among other things, taught me to play
so I went to the Grand Bazaar, the Kapalı Çarşı,
where I tried to haggle (unsuccessfully) to buy a set (successfully.)
In thanks I took him with me on a walk of the old peninsula,
and hand-in-hand/heart-to-heart we saw the Hagia Sophia
and the Sirkeci Terminali of the famous Oriental Express.
There too we ate islak burgers and simit pastries from street vendors
and had golden-brown tea and frothy coffee, Türk kahvesi, in a café.
As I stood alone on the Galata Bridge, wishing him really there,
I wondered how many others through the long years
have wept their past into the dark, flowing Bosporus.
Why-oh-why didn’t I learn his other game as well?
The poem and photograph are by a dear friend of mine, Sara. That is the tavla board mentioned in the poem. I am certain that she will enjoy your comments.
Thank you for reading With my belovéd. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain.
To see my photography blog, please visit the Book of Bokeh.
Photograph, poem, and notes © 2022 Sara; all rights reserved. The poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Work 3.0 Unported License. The image is not licensed for use in any way without the expressed consent of its creator.
2 responses to “Sara’s “With my belovéd””
Many thanks to my poetry mentor for helping me turn my thoughts into this wonderful poem. Thanks, Sara
Thank you, dear. But the heart of this poem is yours.