Had I been born in Samarkand I would have moved to Bukkhara
or had I been more adventurous of spirit perhaps Mazar
e Shariff or even Sanadaj to enter into Sama
how did I end up in this eternal sea
of plastic and electric lights;
I’d rather be a hawk or ferile pig
or a desert cat hiding in the sand dunes
for the moon to rise into the night and embrace
all gentle minds who regail us wrapt and spell bound
with their ancient poetry of love and all the greater virtues
of mankind but then again I’d trade it for a mustang running wild
in the high steppes near Karakoram; tell me how did I end up in suburb
burp as Marcel used to say when we hid from the world in her attic so long ago