A Petrarchan sonnet on the vast Sahara and the Mediterranean soul of Algiers.
White towers of Algiers rise from the foam,
Like marble teeth against a sapphire bay,
Where Roman ruins crumble in the day,
And ancient kings once called this mountain home.
But south, the Great Ergs beckon those who roam,
Where Tassili's red rocks in silence pray,
And Tuareg veils keep burning sands at bay,
Under the desert’s vast and starry dome.
A history of fire and of pride,
Of martyrs who reclaimed the land they love,
With spirit that no ocean could divide.
The hawk of Atlas circles high above,
While secrets in the Kasbah safely hide,
A lion’s heart within a velvet glove.
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