THE CITY OF SIRTE
She rose from the sand like a favoured child
Cradled by waves and draped with oil.
A city birthed from
A legacy carved to outlive time.
She wore power like a velvet robe
Gracefully hosting the continent’s hopes
Summits held with unifying dreams
From Egypt’s dunes to Sierra Leone’s seas.
But now she lies in shattered grace
Her golden roads frayed like worn-out thread.
Glass-built homes still raise their flags
Though windows are gone, and doors hang dead.
O Sirte, once a privilege town
Now carry the weight of broken stones
once a breath of fresh air
Now buried in ruins, silent and alone.
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