Halima.

In the northern sun she walked alone,
grace in steps like winds well known.
Skin like bronze, with desert’s hue,
eyes that held the skies so blue.

A lens was raised by foreign hand,
a man who came from distant land.
He saw not just a fleeting face,
but timeless beauty, strength, and grace.

Her smile was light, her silence deep,
a song the stars would choose to keep.
He clicked, then paused, his heart now stirred,
for no lens could frame his whispered word.

So he wrote with trembling pen,
a poem he'd read again and again.
"Halima," he said, "you shine so bright,
you turn the heat of noon to night.

Though worlds apart, i now belong
to you, the muse of every song."
And in her gaze, he found his way,
a love that words could not betray.