If I tell you what happened you would never believe...

If I tell you what happened you would never believe.
I had this weird dream where I am Callif.
Between my wealthy life, woman and magic
Once I met a wanderer-dervish.
He sat on the rock and opened his bag
Pulled out some bread for which he had begged.
He gave quarter of what he had
Left quarter for himself and put the rest into the bag.
And we started our talk sitting near the walls of Baghdad,
Waiting for the guards let us in; two strangers me and him.

I asked him hundreds of questions about where he’d been.
Life of the dervish is like one big dream.
Adventure through all the way...
Wisdom he earned, people he met...
No one would tell as much as he had to tell.
Great stories and tales from around the world.
He talked forever and I never got bored.

Sun is up high, it’s around noon, guards should let us in soon.
Entering the City we were amazed by the huge Bazaar:
Lamb, worthless wine, gold and kvazar,
Rags made from the best Persian wool,
Mules with bags full of rice and grain,
Craft in any imaginable way.
Dancing women and midgets with tricks...
We were barred alive in all those things.

Lived through the day me and him
We were waiting to hear the prophecy of Wiseman.
He usually came out and tell everybody what the stars have to say.
Who dies pretty soon and why we have snow in July.
We listen and listen to him until the end
Making a few notes inside our heads.

By the time we finished it was deep dark night.
Dervish reminded me that we need to sleep sometime.
And in this very moment it came to me how different we are.
It is doesn’t mater I am Callif, I had money and I am rich.
But I can not afford what he had and owned.

He lives on the road, he sleeps on the street his mattress is dust.
His blanket is blue night sky, his light is moonshine.
His wine is water from the mountain stream.
His meal for the day: bread along with someones story or dream.
Or sometimes nothing he needs axcept being alive.
Going through his bag from time to time.
Pulling out priceless things he found on the road he roams.
Once I met a wanderer-dervish who had more than I ever will...

October 14, 1996
wrt: Andrey Prudnikov