You met me in the blazing sunlight, wrapped in leather armor; archaic, yet you possessed an elegant lightness that immediately captivated me. Now the ravages of time have immortalized themselves in your once-silver-blading blade; stains and scratches on your cold skin are the wrinkles you will forever bear. We met in Timbuktu, Mali, before the AQMI butchers ravaged your birthplace, a cradle of African culture. They didn't get you. And they will never be able to destroy your legacy, your history, your soul. You are the incarnation of hope, a silent guardian of a bygone era, a breathing artifact, a silent memorial that continues to shimmer.
