Within the depths of my soul I cradle the images of the Sahara while my heart quickens at the mere thought. I shiver as my hands remember her hot white grains of sand that trickled through my fingers. Her desert air caressed my cheeks and left me intoxicated with her forbidden charms. Her seductive voice beckons me back to her savage land, while mixtures of jasmine, rose, and desert incense linger on my body as a mistressís perfume taunts her loverís wife. The foreign odor remains; her images inhabit my mind. Her mysterious emerald and green waters taunt me by day. The remembrance of her people, those with golden brown skin who were natives and welcomed to her lands, and the refugees who clung to her borders with skin the color of burnt brownies, a dark purplish brown, invade my dreams.
Even now, years later, she continues to beckon me back to her forbidden sands, a place where I was once condemned because I was foreign, and estranged because I was different. She hunted for my soul as a hungry lion prowls for his wounded prey. She forbade me to worship my God and stole my freedom while she whispered seductive words of endearment.
I will never forget her wrath, her cruelest of natures, a hatred that ran so deep within her beauty that poison would be better than her own marrow. Did she despise me because I was a foreign woman who fought for freedom and openly refused to worship the God of her sands? Yet during my darkest moments I found my God in her savage and forbidden land.
Despite her cruel and tumultuous nature she stole my heart unaware as a thief who comes in the dead of night. It was in her rage that I found her beauty, a vision that will remain forever on my lips and linger in my heart as I silently weep for her and her people.