Fes © 2008 Tom Gowanlock

The early dawn stillness settles over the old city
The impatient scuffing of a donkey’s hoof on the cobbles
A cockerel on a corrugated iron rooftop
Scuttles back and forth and crows proudly

Keeping alive the ancient tradition of its ancestors
Defying the modern ways from up the valleys
The perpetual tinkle of water, the undercurrent of life
Here and beyond. A clad figure wanders

In contemplation, hands held behind his back
A string of beads running across his fingers, head stooped
Eyes looking beyond, as if through a reflection
Perceiving what is behind it, a serene look

Cool damp air, the subtle scent of jasmine flowers
Creeps out through cracks of old wooden doors
From majestic inner courtyards, containing fountains
Springing forth from which is life’s source

The modest rustic outer wall, battered by daily traffic,
Concealing an unrevealed inner utopia,
Like the patched robe of the mystic, contrasts with an inward kingdom,
Polished gold, reflecting what illuminates it

Both only open to the invited, those given the key.
The haunting call - prayer is better than sleep
Waking minds, hearts and souls whose eyes open to the Light
The bodies stand up in rows, turned to the Merciful

Swallows swoop out from under the eaves,
A lonely cat walks across the chessboard of tiles,
In the courtyard, as people exchange wishes of peace,
Don their shoes and gather their hoods.