Once he discovered the wooden essence
of ancient palaces, the rocks, the pink
stones. He dreamt of living in chambers.
The notes of a sitar would accompany
steps on sandy paths. Camels or elephants.
He never saw those promenading along
the banks of his river. Ducks and pheasants
taking the place of peacocks or eagles.
The fragrance of oud wafting through
nostrils. Effluvium of notes, sun, magnolia
and wet soil soaked in ancient poetry,
in religious verse, in ancestors’ ploughing
the land. They might’ve come from the Caucasus
and beyond. Nomads like him. Fretting
to settle down. Winds rippling in rounds
of perfumes of bodies in love of rain’s
aroma and cradling those rifts in a soul.
Steps wrinkled on different stones.
A concubine showed her ankle. Golden
strings of pendants hung from it. They quivered.
His nostrils caught the petrichor scent
on tiptoe. A prostitute washed his feet
in the secrecy of a decent abode.
He pondered over travels and clouds
which had changed direction in the sky.
Pregnant with raindrops, they were ready to wash
down the smell of her skin. Then he found
her anklet. He found it along the river
banks. The water still flowed, impassive.
A scarlet poppy sticking to her dead
body. The resin was glue of light.
In the countryside, he remembered
that trip, the risks of getting too close
to the sun, too close to a heart.

Sara Florian’s achieved a Ph.D. in Modern Philology in Venice, Italy, conducted academic research in the Caribbean and obtained a post-doctoral fellowship in Singapore. She has published Luce/Light (2011), Caribbean Counterpoint (2019), Crevices (2023) and wrote librettos for opera in Singapore. Her main writing concerns are environmental crisis, world peace, and gender inequality.