The Old Timbuktian*

I come neither with sword nor with rifle -

Behold! I have words which are stronger than both.

I have seen more pain and torment than one could glimpse in one lifetime alone

What have I done to suffer this -

I, an old man, am less regarded or cared for.

They chant the name of Ekene, day after day,

Proclaiming the occult he wove in Timbuktu.

If only the walls and pillars would speak,

Speak of the wonders and devastation they witnessed -

I would be Ekene, I would!

Look well - beyond those bars lie the ruins of Timbuktu,

Not piles of concrete but of bones.

The cries of the infants and their mothers haunt me, day after day.

I have lived through every curse that befell this land.

Behold! I stand here now naked.

The three essentials that grant survival are but dreams one dreams of

If only I were dead - Ekene would have been a myth!

But lo, here I am, an old Timbuktian.

The old man is dead, Ekene is dead, and Timbuktu is no more.

My last day in Timbuktu is over, tomorrow I fly to civilization, leaving behind this barely inhabited land, Timbuktu..

*Timbuktian = The fictional demonym for one hailing from Timbuktu

Aaron S. George