By E.J. Hamilton
To enter is to be captivated
by Persian welcomes—gold calligraphy
whose meaning is felt through its beauty;
cardamom and sandalwood scents
migrating on waves of dried fruits, grilled meats;
abundant silks, marble, lapis,
vermillion. Don’t miss the library—
diasporic riches packed in small boats
laden with knowledge–Rumi, Rudaki,
Baba Tahir. Bedrooms furnished with dates,
orange blossom, saffron, myrrh. The let-down
is the view: monolithic decline
drowning in grey, polyester St George
and the mob, crusaders on cocaine.
E.J. Hamilton is a Brighton-based poet and performer whose work has featured in literary journals,
on BBC radio, and at Glastonbury Festival.
