Picture this.

Two sides to every story.
Myself, on the left -
Europe, the last continental crumbs
before the disintegration into sea.

Ahead, Asia,
the buildings like cereal boxes,
first speckles of another side
of this sprawling cobweb city.

Students stroll down
Independence Avenue in Beyoğlu,
that half-swallowed ‘g’,
lozenge-shaped baklavas in hand.

A bevy of Galatasaray fans,
Aslanlar shirts, bypass a moving tram,
the air dense with the twitter
of the Turkish lexicon.

Two men, whirling dervishes,
revolving waves of white.
A self-waltz of sorts
around a bangle of spectators.

I see only passionate folk.
Veins thick of flag red.
One half of a world spliced
by a liquid thread.