At the courtyard of the Blue Mosque, a secret ritual. Murat Nemet-Nejat |
At the courtyard of the Blue Mosque, a secret ritual. The muezzin is turning
the pages of the sultan's private book woven with naked slaves, whipping
time to shreds. In a division of labor, bushy commanders and dreamy slaves join, tearing to pieces during the riotous orgies, the pages of the Koran, revealing their reveries. A mistiness after the rain, hammered with pain. He dreams a crooked spell, a diagonal, so so paradise. Found out, the commander's tunic is ripped off, his gold epaulets are ripped off. His slaves escape giggling. Now, a bag man, accosting and being teased by foundlings. |
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