Overland on night train.
Unsleeping, hitting every bump,
just when rail’s rhythms lulled,
brakes halted.
Frontier post 3 am;
dulled border guard,
whose rifle casually shoulder-slung,
escorted to moustached official,
hand outstretched for precious currency;
granted permission to go on,
pay obeisance where waters meet.
Afterwards, beatifically exhausted,
euphoric bench, Blue Mosque behind.
Photograph of thirty years sepia toned,
from era before cellphone pictures,
remote now as one where Victorian gentlemen
arrived on Orient Express,
seeking the exotic.
She was a dream,
city where two continents adjoin,
rendezvous of earths and heavens.
Greek, Roman, Byzantine, Ottoman
absorbed; northmen transformed.
Beneath frescoed dome floating on pillars
stern, serene emperors oblivious.
Their line ended new one arose,
absorbing every conqueror,
retaining identity, refusing uniformity.
Dusk, the final evening,
dome curved against sunset,
corner streetlight speaks modernity,
spiced aroma in alleyways,
cuisines formed over centuries.
Where lies your non-conforming heart
in our age of corporate glass?
© Phil Kemp 2026
