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.