Disordered Decorum

I can smell the frankincense.
And hear the cries of merchants,
euphonic jingling, glass bangles
reflecting sunlight onto rugs.
Aroma of rice, colours of spice.
The beating of dust off mosaics,
and the picking of loose threads
from winter's fabrics.

I watch the dexterity
of the women who heave kilim
knots, horizontal, vertical
geometry, these Ottoman
weighted carpets. They pour out
ayran in round earthen pots,
and it soothes, animates the
parlay of travellers.

Clanking of coins, the disordered
decorum of varied traditions.
Adaab, a shake of hands, hand
across the chest and I discover
the livelihood of this vendor.
In our trade, he learns about mine.
Before I turn, 'May your blessings
be lasting', I hear. 'May your
bread be plentiful'.