There, beyond the fountain  
where palm trees offer peace, 
without haste, we tread;
it’s where we kiss and where 
hurdles melt piece by piece. 

The city breathes blue hope, 
clad in poised buildings, hear 
sky’s ash white struggles– 
what I wouldn’t give to see, 
lush leaf ferns flourish here.  

The sweet din of Baku  
wears the dew of youth’s hour, 
survives through tumult 
and tells tales of romance– 
we glide from yours to our. 





Photo credits: Ornamented buildings in Baku, Pexels. 

Posted for Poetry Form: Flamenca or Seguidilla Gitana @dVerse Poets Pub