.
In the heart of India, where the sacred rivers flow,
Loti wandered, lost in time’s eternal flow.
His pen, a whisper, captured sights unseen,
In *”Le Roman d’un Spahi”* words serene.
*”Là-bas, dans l’écho des temples anciens,*
*Résonne encore le souffle des dieux.”*
Thus he sang of sacred lands, of old believers,
Where faith and shadow intertwine, where souls ever cleave.
Oh, Loti, poet of the far and wide,
Your verses linger where the sacred dies.
In every sunlit stupa, every silent prayer,
Your spirit lingers, breathing through the air.
India, sacred land, where Loti once did roam,
A wanderer in time, a dreamer, not alone.
For in your halls, your chants, your mystic breath,
He found a truth beyond all earthly death.
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