Mikadomann

I am writing my first comment here after many months..
I lie alone on the couch. Just me and 2. Nawab of Oudh Intensivo...

So here it is:
He travels well, he who travels in fantasy…
He is not hindered by any luggage.
Time and place do not constrain him.

The narrow alleys of the Medina. Ages ago or yesterday. In the maze of narrow streets, the little shop. No door. The wooden threshold. Toothless smile and millions of wrinkles around the sparkling eyes.
On silver matte trays, pastries and sweet delicacies. The scent comes before the taste. Even before I taste the sweet filling, I am enveloped by the fragrance of cardamom, dates, orange blossom, and cinnamon.

Cobblestones, wet from the cold London rain. Passing by the window, out of the corner of my eye, the face of the prostitute. No longer young. Powdered white, rouge on her cheeks - almost circles. Our gazes meet briefly. An attempt, even though she knows there is nothing to gain. At the back of the table in the shabby room, an astonishing bouquet. White flowers, an orchid - and a rose. Almost a circle. Like the rouge on her cheeks.

Granada. The bright, enchanting beauty of the Nasrids. The stone ceilings as airy as lace. And from the gardens of the Alhambra, dark roses and laurel drift by on the wind. Was that the laughter of the Sultan? And there, the laughter of his wife?

Then, when evening falls and the air cools, there stands the dark beauty. He looks and gazes. And only in the imagination does the scent of his skin arise. After a day’s work and ready for the adventure of the night.

The next morning. The narrow alleys of the Medina. Ages ago or yesterday. The wooden threshold. A beggar boy earns a dinar. He sweeps the threshold and in the light, dust swirls from wood shavings and dried rose petals.