A Cento for a Scribe
the scribe was having a dream
in his delirium
a bridge spanned the milky river
like a chant
an orchard full
of cherry trees in bloom
petals like paper
all over the ground
“Write your prayers with
every step …”
the thread of ink on
the luminous sheets of moonshine
“I would wash it in gold,
adorn with it lapis lazuli,
rule it with carmine …”
he dipped into
the winking ink
the page lay blank and waiting
his dream
sank beneath the scummy mould
of memory…
he paused
he hesitated
the walls were pitted as well as daubed,
like the skin of bruised pears
the sack was filled with paper
pale as pistachio nuts
delicate as a breeze
in sultry air
the paper was subtle
there was something rippling
on the other side
he bent closer and breathed
he recognised
the blooming orchard
beyond the silver river
the hand hidden
in the green silk sleeve
was about to reveal itself
he left no traces
in the dust
as he followed
his new master
A Cento taken from the prose work Paper by Bahiyyih Nakhjavani
Marousia 