Second of two

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He came from afar, smelling of the desert...
Pure Arabic, without any blemish!
Thin as an ear of wheat!
His legs are so thin, like a runner's, but there's something about him that tells you he's running a race unlike other people's races!
His face is white; he miraculously survived the desert sun!
His back was slightly hunched as if he had been carrying something heavy on his shoulders all his life, but his piercing gaze told you that no one else could have carried this burden!
His beard was dyed with henna, tending towards red, as if the sun at the moment of setting had found no other refuge!
His clothes are worn, but the man has a touch of historical antiquity!
I wanted to ask him: Who are you?!
But there are men in whose presence you lose your language, and he was one of them!
I stared at him for a long time, my silence binding me, and my curiosity killing me to know who he was, but he removed all of this from me when he said: Peace be upon you.
His voice is sweet, as if the letters come out of the Hijr of Ismail, not from his mouth. It has a tenderness like the prayers of mothers, and a reverence like the recitation of Surah Ar-Rahman!