The Golden Journey to Samarkand

At the Gate of the Sun, Bagdad, in olden time.

The Merchants (together) Away, for we are ready to a man!

Our camels sniff the evening and are glad.

Lead on, O Master of the Caravan:

Lead on the Merchant-Princes of Bagdad.

The Chief Draper Have we not Indian carpets dark as wine,

Turbans and sashes, gowns and bows and veils,

And broideries of intricate design,

And printed hangings in enormous bales?

The Chief Grocer We have rose-candy, we have spikenard,

Mastic and terebinth and oil and spice,

And such sweet jams meticulously jarred

As God's own Prophet eats in Paradise.

The Principal Jews And we have manuscripts in peacock styles

By Ali of Damascus: we have swords

Engraved with storks and apes and crocodiles,

And heavy beaten necklaces, for Lords.

The Master of the Caravan But you are nothing but a lot of Jews.

The Principal Jews Sir, even dogs have daylight, and we pay.

The Master of the Caravan But who are ye in rags and rotten shoes,

You dirty-bearded, blocking up the way?

The Pilgrims We are the Pilgrims, master: we shall go

Always a little further: it may be

Beyond that last blue mountain barred with snow,

Across that angry or that glimmering sea,

White on a throne or guarded in a cave

There lives a prophet who can understand

Why men are born: but surely we are brave,

Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.

The Chief Merchant We gnaw the nail of hurry. Master, away!

One of the Women O turn your eyes to where your children stand.

Is not Bagdad the beautiful? O stay!

The Merchants (in chorus) We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.

An Old Man Have you not girls and garlands in your homes,

Eunuchs and Syrian boys at your command?

Seek not excess: God hateth him who roams!

The Merchants (in chorus) We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.

A Pilgrim with a Beautiful Sweet to ride forth at evening from the wells

Voice When shadows pass gigantic on the sand,

And softly though the silence beat the bells

Along the Golden Road to Samarkand.

A Merchant We travel not for trafficking alone:

By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned:

For lust of knowing what should not be known

We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.

The Master of the Caravan Open the gate, O watchman of the night!

The Watchman Ho, travellers, I open. For what land

Leave you the dim-moon city of delight?

The Merchants (with a shout) We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.

(The Caravan passes through the gate)

The Watchman What would ye, ladies? It was ever thus.

(consoling the women) Men are unwise and curiously planned.

A Woman They have their dreams, and do not think of us.

Voices of the Caravan We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.

(in the distance, singing)

JAMES ELROY FLECKER

With the above poem as my inspiration, I shall one day fulfill my dream of travelling along the Silk Road. I only have one life, and I can choose to be stuck in this urban jungle, this Cave of modern society, or I can unleash my imagination and let it become a reality. I choose the latter....