We met through mutual friends,

In the height of summer.

His name was not one to be forgotten,

I could tell he was like no other.

Tall, Tanned and handsome,

wild curly hair tucked under a cap.

An infectious heart warming smile,

Magestic, like the Nile.

His manner, calm, courteous,

Gentle and kind.

A gentleman,

A very rare find.

I couldn’t help but be drawn,

He captivated me with his gaze.

I’d have gladly gaped,

For days, upon days.

Akh! Ya Mammee! (A popular expression in Arabic)

Ses Yeux! (His eyes, in French)

Ya Kharabi! (A popular phrase in Arabic, which means ‘My destruction in Arabic’)

So expressive and twinkly, I couldn’t help but go balmy.

My heart would jive,

To an unheard beat.

My chest on fire,

With tingly heat.

Stood by his side,

I couldn’t help but soon.

His affections for me,

Could have launched me to the moon.

Summer ended, just as fast as it had started

The weather cooled.

He went away and departed.

I felt such a fool.

Not a word,

Not a whisper,

Not even….

A good bye.

He immigrated,

He left me.

Stunned and shocked,

I bottled it all up inside.

The years passed,

Many a men, I met,

But non of them compared,

to that summer gent.

Old Summer Flame,

Preserved in my mind.

Memories of him,

Would surface from time to time.

I speculated,

I wondered,

What had become of him?

Did he ever think of me, as I did him?