April IWSG and another poem

Sweet Tea in IstanbulI remember drinking sweet tea in Istanbulas carpet merchants held up silken carpets, to show off the rippling vibrant colors, and later,watching the whirling dervish twirl, lost in meditation,the tiles some new language we couldn't translate.How many beds we've slept in, some sumptuous, some lumpy,in how many continents and countries,pursuing some uncharted agenda to explore