The Call to Prayer

In Istanbul, the men

whistle as you pass, let their eyes roam

down alleys as you loose yourself

amongst bins of olives, dates,

wonder through the bazaar following the scent of turmeric,

sahlep, cinnamon bark. When you get hungry, stop

to talk to weathered fishermen, eat Balik ekmek,

fish sandwiches, and browse

rows upon rows of antiques, fragile

ceramics and ancient books bound in soft leather,

stories of the Ottoman empire and sultans, women

and children that spill onto the streets, fill the city

with the sound of heavy Turkish voices, Adman

echoing through the mosques,

the call to prayer.