A Moroccan Heaven.

Poem By Douglas McClarty

I wandered through the Medina
In the old town of Tangiers
Looking for the Riad, Arous
I will meet you at cafe Paris, he said
I sit there drinking strong Maroc coffee
Waiting for a stranger, to lead the way
I have no rose in my lapel or sign to tell
But I look foreign among this local crowd
A voice behind said are you looking for Arous.
Please follow me I am you honored guide
The streets are bustling with noisy traders
Trying to sell me their many treasures
The Amman begins the daily call to prayer
as I follow my guide through narrow streets
It's hot, humid and smelly, but exciting
I feel I am on a time machine transported back
Burka covered ladies pass me by, why I ask
There is a darkness in this, my inner soul cry's
But there is also a beauty in their shape and form
In a narrow empty street I stand at a large door
Welcome to Arous, he says as the door opens
The courtyard before me is a lush green oasis
I have arrived at this tranquil palace
a Moroccan heaven.

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