“Commune with your own heart on your bed and be still.” 
― Maimonides Moses 1135-1204

 

The splashes of red, the heady bloom,

The opulent smell, patchouli oil, lingering.

In a marbled room: a certain slant of light,

Reveals these Andalusian roses creeping

Along the fence between Mudejar and Christian.

Between Morisco and Jew,

Between my lover and I,

Between me and you.

Such dirty sweet hauntings

Under the heavy crimson blue skies of Cordova

Fleeting days, gone like the burnings at the stake,

Like regret, regret, regret. Oh! These sins of omission

Threaten my life; make me wake in a sweat in the night.

Half alive, all affright.

See this person’s golden hand so thin and frail in mine.

We excavate the deep cells in Raqqa, in Granada, all through north Africa

All along the fault line, this earthquake zone

Between cultures, religions, races, histories.

.......................

These roses of Al-Andalusia shine in the stark bright sunlight,

Through which  Maimonides, Jew-philosopher,  so clearly saw..