WRITERS ABROAD MAGAZINE: THE THIRD SPACE
A morning like any
BY BIEKE STENGOS
The call to prayer
from a minaret, opposite
an open church door
breathing incense
into the street, still
as the night before
when not a breeze
had stirred the water.
There had been the sound
of drums for a while and a
woman’s voice weaving
rose scented trebles
over velvet waves but
no echo of the traces
of violence now reflected
in the grimace
of a celluloid face, ripped
from a poster
and stranded on
a deserted slab
of pavement.
Some violence there
in the broken eyes.
Some desperation.
8 | November 2016