Sharjah Cultural Village…
Lepers we were, maybe.
Or trespassers at an historic temple.
Stumbling upon tradition…
The blacksmith, the carpenter,
The maker of traps,
Miniature pallets
For small mammals, perhaps.
The silent women placidly seated,
Embroidering or making bread;
A young girl, grinding, broom stale in hand,
Turning the runner on the immovable bed.
Visitors we were, certainly.
Or students at a cultural hub.
Meanings lost in translation…
Girls in orange and yellow,
Barefooted, skipping,
Long rope whipping
Dust from the ground.
Drummers in white and black,
Sluggish feet shuffling
In line, scuffling
Sand on the ground.
Youths in shade, silence and slime,
Bemused, crouching,
Shoulders slouching
And dates on the ground…
Pete Ray
The cultural centre in Sharjah in 2007 was
interesting enough but I felt uncomfortable there at times, too.
The fresh pomegranate juice was truly memorable, however…
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