The Maghreb Wanderer

Had I not broken into silence,

As she hang on waiting, anxious

Clinging on the last drop of hope

As she did-- with her fingernails

Maybe she would have been still

Kept her faith till my 'homecoming'

 If I had broken the dead silence

And stormed into her forlorn soul

In the thick of those cold nights,

Enchanting her breaking spirit
With my soothing strokes of love,

Maybe I’d still be her shining knight