I walk past the house of love,
where broken hearts were healed;
where souls quenched desire
deep into the night.
The house stood through the ages
in the city of Ephesus;
it opened its doors for the enemies
who plundered the place for its wealth.
My hand sweeps across
the ruins of the gravel wall —
a desire to be touched,
to fill the void within me.
I lie in bed; sleepless nights,
He never got it right, time after time;
kisses were never felt; we never walked
that extra mile, right from the start.
I pass by the remains of a temple
that once belonged to Artemis,
now burnt down, a price she paid
for attending the birth of Alexander the Great.
I’m at the church of Mary,
A woman appears from nowhere,
an opaque bottle in hand,
dressed in turquoise.
A virgin
in twiggy green laces,
she hands me
the bottle.
I uncork the lid —
scent of jasmine
morphs into the scent of camphor,
myrrh and frankincense.
It reminds me of the starry night
at the manger where the King was born,
as I stood there watching
the woman fade into the crowd.
Be Open Says;
Writers! Let’s be open!
Writers should take this!
