I am

an ancient city,

my love.

Of stark poetry,

of hidden delights

and unseen treasures,

a womb in the desert

you may return to



You may see me as

crumbling walls

and ramshackle forts,

desperate hunger

and impoverishment,

but in the patient quiet of the night

I am vividly alive,

lighting the sky

with the soft glow of my million hazy stars;

singing my lullabies that are

traditional story-songs,

my willowy melodies

gently haunting.


I will lead you down my long romantic winding pathways,

into the hidden crevices of myself,

and there you will glimpse

my illustrious manuscripts,

read my magnificent golden script,

the vastness of my humanity

and my wisdom


and laid bare

for you.



my love,


inside my city,


inside my story,


inside me.

One thought on “Timbuktu

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