I had a sense of deja vu
when old Algiers hove into view.
Tho’ cast about by suburban sprawl
at La Grande Post d’Alger I felt the call.
‘Time out of mind’ I think it’s said,
an echo of a place once tread.
Ancestor or kindred soul perhaps,
linear constructs of time collapse.
A gentle breeze caressed my face
from Port Said and the Med’s embrace.
A subtle mix of many sorts,
Alger beckoned within my thoughts.
Chic young women with well-coiffed hair
amidst shawl-clad ladies not from there,
tho’ a hijab scarf is sometimes worn
by those who Western dress adorn.
If mother France had long vacated
still her influence permeated:
les avenues, les boulevards, les places,
les jardins public dans l’espace.
And such stately apartments row on row,
whose balconies such sights did know.
The ebb and flow of urban life
now as then, both joy and strife.
Embrace the fusion, the Arab cry!
aspirations no different from you nor I.
And even if recollection fades,
now to fair Algiers these accolades.