Beni Khiar is where the land
leans into the sea like a lover—
hips of olive hills pressed
to the breathless blue,
whispers of jasmine tangled
in the tide’s curls.
She offers her fruit with sun-warmed hands,
dates soft as childhood,
figs that taste like first kisses,
while the sea answers
with foam-laced lullabies,
dragging secrets from ancient wrecks
to kiss her shore.
The children chase the wind,
barefoot between sand and stone,
and old men sip tea
like it’s the last warmth of the day,
watching sails flirt
with the horizon.
Here, time forgets its ticking.
Here, even the moon slows her climb,
pauses over rooftops
to bathe in a place
where prayers ride waves
and love is made
between earth and saltwater.
Beni Khiar—
where land and sea lie tangled,
limbs forgotten,
in a dream
older than maps.