-Halima Ahmad

Once upon a moonlit night,
a whisper on her tongue,

a wish, a fleeting fancy, sweet and young.

In chambers draped with moonlit silk, she lies,

Takitse, with fire in her eyes.

To hold her breath, a captive of the night,

and steal a moment, bathe in silver light.

A harem’s secrets, her only shield,

as dawn’s first light threatened her fate, forever sealed.

A thousand and one tales, already spun a thread,

of woven worlds, where heroes rise from dead.

The melodies, whispers of Sahara’s lute, sweet and pure,

a yearning for a life,

where stories weren’t her cure.

Dreams did blossom with the timpani of desert winds,

But not of quest and djinns, where magic always wins.

She dreamt of meadows, sunlight dappling on the grass,

A simple life, a gentle hand, a love that would surpass.

The gilded cage of words, the silken threads that bound,

A yearning for a melody, a voice that wasn’t found.

In tales of Bayajida, Rabeh, and treasures beyond compare,

A wish, a silent whisper, trembling on the air.

Dare dubu da daya, within this moonlit night,

A single sentence, in a twist of cunning light.

She spoke of a hidden gimbiya, locked in a fortress tower tall,

Who yearned for freedom’s song, to answer freedom’s call.

The Sarki’s, entranced, begged, “What fate awaits this soul?”

A pause, a beat, then Takitse, losing all control,

Breathed, she speaks, “Your Majesty, when dawn begins to break,

And only then, the final twist, the ending you can take.”

A flicker of surprise, then dawning comprehension’s ray,

The Sarki, disarmed, a single tear escaped his hardened clay.

He rose, his voice softened, “Let the princess rest tonight,

Perhaps tomorrow’s story holds a different, brighter light.

And so, Takitse rises, swallows down her plea,

For stories are her weapon, setting her heart free.

A thousand dawns, a thousand tales unsung,

Her stifled wish, on silent wings takes flight, on every tongue.

The twist, you see, within this moonlit night,

Her wish for silence fuels her stories’ light

For in the quite spaces, whispers yet unheard, 

A thousand tales take root; a thousand songs are stirred.

The Sarki, no longer chained by vengeance and despair,

Found solace in her voice, a love that blossomed there.

For in that twist of tale, a truth found its release,

A princess found her voice, and love brought sweet, sweet peace.