Poem • 062 TE

Kenya, Nairobi

stone: one

peering into the abyss is child's play
losing balance
tipping tides
sift the swaying feathers before they fall

adamantine shields break their fall
battle-hardened
graciously pardoned
by the figures cut in clay

stone to stone may we return
before the ancients clash
time is saved in an urn
we collect the dusty ash

'peering into the abyss is child's play'
say the figures cut in clay

stone: two

the pages turned like huge stone blocks
slow, heavy, thoughtless

courtyard games and ice cream cones
do not distract me from my peaceful slumber
frozen peaks rummage through the sky
each revelling in their glorious number

thoughtless
thoughts

pillared, sequestered, broken
who knew what lay in store
in those pages
i still turn them like huge stone blocks

stone: three

the copper bowls are filled with lore
aeons and aeons ago

staring down the tunnel of the past
brazen by fire and shaped by stone
the mind carries on

memories live in the words of
bones, skulls and dust
they float in the wind
until they sink
then we think

wherever wonderous souls go searching
it will be found
dorado will never die

dust to dust
stone to stone

stone: four

forever lost through the tangled maze, gilded as though with honey
and shaped from the mortar's clay – frescoed ceilings call to the masses,
pointing their crippled, crumbling digits to those in a purplish gaze

alleluia! inshallah! hare krishna!

swathing swarms ravish the crooked aisles as terror strains
their cautious limbs, lumbering forth to attack the clay;
stones wallow their pride, deafen their fraud.
picketing outrage crying for the promised land, deserving
more; penniless paupers or sauntering sycophants circle the square and
jaunty vendors resist your resistance as you breathe for air
amidst the ancient dust, swirling arrogantly in his hidden lair

the city walls offer us only one chance
when far-flung flotillas launch their assault
and the sultan lies with eyes askance:
our sorry demise is his sorry fault

Author's Notes:

Throughout these vistas circling in and out of the ancient city of Istanbul, formerly known as Constantinople, I tried to envision the burden of living, breathing, and exploring a place with so much historical richness. The fundamental glue that holds this place together is stone; it has survived the torrents of time because of stone. It made me ponder as to how much the civility, culture and tradition relies on stone; how much the brutish, inanimate substance gifts itself to the livelihood of humankind. 

Stone has formed the pivot of our relation to history: without these long-lasting structures we would not where we come from. The evidence of the past lies in the stone and very few large cities still rely on stone structures for support. The cities of glass will not stand the test of time as successfully. Nor do they possess the same richness of art. They are merely facilitators of our existence. 

The city of stone, like the written word, is permanent so long as it lives on in stories, so long as people walk its streets, so long as we preserve its beauty, and so long as we respect its strength.

Editorial Notes:

If you have a story that you would like to present on this platform, please feel free to share it using the submission form.

Text & Photography: Rahul Sarit
Links: Website, Instagram

Rahul Sarit, City of Stone

Kenya, Nairobi

stone: one

peering into the abyss is child's play
losing balance
tipping tides
sift the swaying feathers before they fall

adamantine shields break their fall
battle-hardened
graciously pardoned
by the figures cut in clay

stone to stone may we return
before the ancients clash
time is saved in an urn
we collect the dusty ash

'peering into the abyss is child's play'
say the figures cut in clay

stone: two

the pages turned like huge stone blocks
slow, heavy, thoughtless

courtyard games and ice cream cones
do not distract me from my peaceful slumber
frozen peaks rummage through the sky
each revelling in their glorious number

thoughtless
thoughts

pillared, sequestered, broken
who knew what lay in store
in those pages
i still turn them like huge stone blocks

stone: three

the copper bowls are filled with lore
aeons and aeons ago

staring down the tunnel of the past
brazen by fire and shaped by stone
the mind carries on

memories live in the words of
bones, skulls and dust
they float in the wind
until they sink
then we think

wherever wonderous souls go searching
it will be found
dorado will never die

dust to dust
stone to stone

stone: four

forever lost through the tangled maze, gilded as though with honey
and shaped from the mortar's clay – frescoed ceilings call to the masses,
pointing their crippled, crumbling digits to those in a purplish gaze

alleluia! inshallah! hare krishna!

swathing swarms ravish the crooked aisles as terror strains
their cautious limbs, lumbering forth to attack the clay;
stones wallow their pride, deafen their fraud.
picketing outrage crying for the promised land, deserving
more; penniless paupers or sauntering sycophants circle the square and
jaunty vendors resist your resistance as you breathe for air
amidst the ancient dust, swirling arrogantly in his hidden lair

the city walls offer us only one chance
when far-flung flotillas launch their assault
and the sultan lies with eyes askance:
our sorry demise is his sorry fault

Author's Notes:

Throughout these vistas circling in and out of the ancient city of Istanbul, formerly known as Constantinople, I tried to envision the burden of living, breathing, and exploring a place with so much historical richness. The fundamental glue that holds this place together is stone; it has survived the torrents of time because of stone. It made me ponder as to how much the civility, culture and tradition relies on stone; how much the brutish, inanimate substance gifts itself to the livelihood of humankind. 

Stone has formed the pivot of our relation to history: without these long-lasting structures we would not where we come from. The evidence of the past lies in the stone and very few large cities still rely on stone structures for support. The cities of glass will not stand the test of time as successfully. Nor do they possess the same richness of art. They are merely facilitators of our existence. 

The city of stone, like the written word, is permanent so long as it lives on in stories, so long as people walk its streets, so long as we preserve its beauty, and so long as we respect its strength.

Editorial Notes:

If you have a story that you would like to present on this platform, please feel free to share it using the submission form.

Text & Photography: Rahul Sarit
Links: Website, Instagram