Turning Around in Circles

POETRY

by Hedy Habra

as though tied to a post lassoed
by recurring dreams vanishing
as soon as I open my eyes
I’m lost in the middle of nowhere
a few blocks from my hotel
unable to find my way back
I keep taking the wrong turn
shifting landscapes encircle
me inside a cyclorama flickering
familiar stores’ lighted signs
give way to muddy trails leading
to railroad tracks next to temples
sculpted with erotic figures
like the bas-reliefs covering
the Baron Empain Palace’s façade
the eccentric Belgian aristocrat’s
Hindu temple implanted four blocks
from my house in Heliopolis as
mythical deities’ piercing glances
follow me through small streets
forking into deserted alleys where
bent silhouettes sweep with tied
twigs like automatons and vendors
display makeshift assortments of
trinkets next to greasy fast food
stalls that spin a déjà vu of oneiric
symbols giving way to shades
riding over trails and rails casting
shadow-shows over a proscenium
that disappears and reappears at an
ever-increasing speed swaying me
into a liminal space where no traces
of trees homes or wheels are to be
found while in the cauldron of my
mind words burn like joss paper
followed by numbers that rise in
flames as soon as I try to align them
to find my bearings or call for help
were I to find a payphone