Marrakech

Away from the triangle square,
the fuming Djmaa el fna
where colours blinded me
and sounds echoed centuries
of every day traditions,
I saw these eyes across the narrow street,
and earth, warm sand, now felt under my feet,
was needed badly as a token of reality.

I saw you stare again,
you were the begging child,
whose legs were broken to gain sympathy.

Your life seemed hell to me
but in your eyes reflected Africa, was life.
The smile you gave, showed me no desperation.
Your spirit had not gone, like mine would have.

And never I would go back home
as whole, as all of me.
A part of me stayed there, with you
a part of my own sanity.