eighteen

another death dive plane ride
drops us into alma-ata
its skyline smoothed by mosque domes
golden shining brilliant
shimmering beacons playing with sunlight

we drive from the airport
and stop outside a towering dome
its simple golden elegance
draws me towards a darkened doorway
i step silently into cave-like darkness
my eyes searching
                          patient
as tiled pictures appear dimly
lit from a single doorway revealing
each tiny tile a pure speck of colour
colours and tiles blending and blurring
the spinning dome high above me is swirling
a colourful quilt of rainbows and stars
i close my eyes keeping them with me forever

   -----

we return to the bus
and our tour guide beams
our excited eyes please her
proudly she declaims :
the state has restored
each non-functioning mosque
to its original beauty

we ask her politely
could we see a functioning mosque
she takes us
                  reluctant
and waits on the bus
impatient
distrustful

two small domes
hide behind a ten foot wall in dying sunlight
sad shadows and smeared tiles
grimy gold peals and flakes
a cluttered floor of mud and pebbles
and a single kneeling figure
                                        quiet
                                        simple
                                        functional