Bizertian life Meditating on Bizertes’ Harbor

Saturday morning, sitting on Bizertes’ harbor early in the morning when the breeze of night is still roaming around the city, the sneaky visit of fog, casting its spell upon the Bizertian streets, between paper work and the long lines of public administrations, one has no enjoyable occupation but to kill the waiting, one could wonder around random sidewalks, till he finds his way within to the most accomplishing place of all times, a place where the heights run deep and silent as the meanings of the past begins to resurrect the break free of the sound of art and creativity.

Preoccupied, one may amuse himself Gazing at the sneaky waters of the Bizertian old harbor admiring the ancient layers of the city and meditating upon the curves of every house and the edge of every bridge. Meanwhile, those rusty boats were gazing back at me telling me the story of old sailors. The elite of the world of the sea; a world of secrets, mastery and dear old courtship. Upon the sight of palm trees, the sound of the wind and the reflection of their shadows entertaining the surface of the slowly awakening waters.

As the courageous glimpse of the sun reaches our part of the earth, music starts to be composed. Engines begins to roar, agitated, old, yet fresh every morning, as enthusiastic as the sailors, the boats aligned and dedicated, as brave soldiers preparing for war, they set sail in a trail ready to conquer, ready to capture, ready to feed. Following their rythmatic motion, I feel amused by the enchanting bells of passing cyclists, old young and moderate, they all sway back and forth as if waives accompanying the enchantment of the sea.

Beyond the risen walls of war, the history embracing the city, arises to sight, those ancient barriers, the remains of the past stood there before the world as a reminder of great victories. Commemorating the surfaces, praising the glory and speaking for a long lived nation who survived to thrive against its foes and proud amongst its allies. Puzzled back and forth, swaying upon the melodies of its symphony, I’d fall in love with Bizerte all over again; a spell to be casted, that remains all day every day, a spell to welcome, to experience and to behold.

TG

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