POETRY
Istanbul
A poem on a celebrated city
Napoleon famously once said, “If the Earth were a single state, Istanbul would be its capital.”
Wandering into the heart of the celebrated city, I am greeted by a colourful cultural honeypot dripping in the history of the Ottoman Empire.
Stepping upon Istanbul’s cobblestones, my camera captures the majestic minarets of Sultan Ahmed Mosque. A palace of glory and grandeur, with ceilings bedecked in Iznik tiles, and intricate inscriptions of Arabic calligraphy.
Amidst the canopy of midsummer, the wind fashions tufts of clouds into little Ottoman soldiers that march off into the brilliant blue horizon.
Whilst yellow taxis bob and beep by the The Bosphorus Bridge, coloured in by the melancholic melody of a Bedouin’s Tambur now washing me upon the Ottoman courtyards.
Treasure hunting for lanterns in the souks and bazaars, cheerful locals flock about like seagulls, carrying woven baskets of Turkish Delights. Whilst stray ginger cats prowl the streets, licking up the delicacies of dropped sweets.
The day washes into dusk, the sky a bizarre blend of pink and orange. I catch a forgotten name etched deep into a gravestone, framed with bright yellow sunflowers, their petals fluttering like little yellow flags in the breeze.
Each sight stirs up a sensation of a history long gone.
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