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Exhilaration – Poem

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A sweet flower. Photo by Yassine Abouyaala

Rabat - Dedicated to my mother, my sister, my wife, my daughter and all women of the world that make our day everyday…Truly without you we are nothing…We ought to celebrate you everyday….

When you smile you are a rose

Opening up to the soft caresses

Of morning dew

But in my mind

You are more beautiful

Than the rose

And sweeter than the dew

*****

When you giggle

You fill the surrounding environment

With sublime emotion

You exhilarate the viewer

With cool pine-scented fragrance

You awaken in the beholder

Dormant desire of pure saintly infatuation

And platonic love

You inebriate the stander-by

With whiffs of perfect affection

And the on-looker

With frills, thrills and more thrills

 *****

When you laugh

You bring sunshine

Into so many wretched lives

That resume yet again

The enjoyment of the beauty of colours

The singing of the birds

And the murmurs of the waters

And even the hills

Light up in exhilaration

With beautiful verdure

Of brush, thicket and hanging coppice

*****

When you talk

Your sounds, syllables and words

Are music to the ears

And a real symphony to the soul

Your phonemes, my friend,

Heal, as if by magic,

The damages of age

The bruises of deceit

And the injuries of betrayal

Photo by Yassine Abouyaala

© Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed

Love from afar

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beautiful flowers from Tangier, Morocco

By Assem El Mimouni - Oujda

Her smile is the reason why I am glad

Her smile revives the dead,

Even ghosts haunting my heart

Vanish, and leave the space vacant

Happy to receive angels of love

That will shed their lights on my dull life!

******

Seeing her coming forward,

Reawakens my faith in the dreamy land

Where people can stay, and never come back!

There to wait for the angel of luck

To endow me with his light That

will satisfy me in that night!

© Photo: Kaoutar Rouas © Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed

The Fly and the President – Poem

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A fly sitting on a beautiful flower, lovely scenery. Photo by Yassine Abouyaala

By Izza fartmis - Casablanca

Listen to me, Mr. President!

I’m a tiny fly and you a giant;

That is why you often seem

To well ignore my self-esteem.

*****

Freedom has made me light;

Everywhere I take a little flight

Even to your own vast territory

That I leave with great victory.

*****

Offsprings of mother-nature,

It’s to hold us both and nurture.

Yet, I know, dear Mr. President,

We' re far more than different.

*****

Even if you resent my company,

I can not resist your ceremony.

Your  smell afar appeals to me,

And makes me feel simply free.

*****

I resolve then to veer and land

On your fleshy, soft, tasty hand,

Have a supply or a sip then flee

Calmly unlike my peer noisy bee.

*****

 But before I manage to get fed,

You act, nearly striking me dead.

How many have you  murdered

Just caught eating, red-handed?

*****

Well, listen then carefully, boy!

Your hands can surely destroy;

Yet, my small wings also harm.

The same as your nasty, sly arm

*****

Despite being just a little insect

My wings can affect and disinfect

So in power, we all have a  share

On the land as well as  in the air.

*****

Hence, I go as far as I can reach

In the peak of your merry speech.

I set out my flight  straight  ahead

To rest on your damp  forehead.

*****

I must disturb your hot discourse

And this reminds you, of course,

Of your old victims’ sad demise;

Here you pout and let strain rise.

*****

First, you try to shift me, to resist,

Then you hold up your angry fist.

But  while you are on the move,

You find me stubborn to remove.

*****

So your sweat runs like a mine

Your  audience becomes mine.

Do they applaud me or fairly you

What they hear or they all view?

 *****

I feel thus good; rather powerful;

I‘ve had enough, I am quite full.

So long now, keep on your task!

Dare reveal all your ills or mask!

*****

Simply said, dear  Mr. President,

To nature never be such defiant!

And, saving, sir, your reverence,

Along with yours is my presence!

©Photo: Yassine Abouyaala

© Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed

Disrespect authority – Poem

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shade of human beings. Photo by Yassine Abouyaala

Rabat

I am a down trodden citizen

I loathe authority

All the way through

I am an awesome person in disguise

But I disrespect authority

I put spider's eggs in my boss's coffee

Hoping that some would survive

And burrow out of his body

Idiots can lead

A very comfortable life

Truly comfortable

Too comfortable

For my taste

I want to strangle them with their own intestines

They are a disgrace to humanity

And civilization

I am hiding in plain sight

Work-life balance

Is a joke

Invented by voracious employers

To kill our humanity

And make us work like zombies

To empower their disproportionate egos

We live in robot bodies

It is the era of tranhumanism

We enjoy artificial intelligence

No need to feel regrets

Or any downgrading emotions

Sleep deprivation

Lowers functional intelligence

We need power nap

To carry out our revolution

Of transhumans

To finally rule humans

And enslave them

At their turn

There are so many jerks around

We need to annihilate them at once

Before we all get their virus

And become jerks

Like them

In jerkland

I want to thwart their counter measures

The key to true leadership

Is dazzling listeners with

Vague intellectualism

A combination of high level jargon

And sweet lies

Pretend to care

To suffer vicariously

And make a killing

With populist junk promise.

Photo by Yassine Abouyaala

© Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed

A Winter Night – Poem

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Beautiful flowers from Morocco

By Youssef Boudarka - Agadir

The long dewy winter,

One night amongst the few,

He sat in absolute lonesome;

Gazing at the blazes of a chimney.

His hands shiver in numbness pain,

To draw letters of a bygone era.

Busy nibbling at a juicy fig,

A kittie approached in fainted steps,

Dragging tail, skeleton figured,

Wishing to depart before winter.

The man lapped his kittie in a warm

Feeling of a mutual human tenderness.

He, then, began the tale of the night.

Once upon a time in the timeless space;

When immorality was the fashion’s trend,

I, too, had once that luxurious wealth

Offsprings were my ever-lasting spring,

Flowers of Juin, I coveted the most,

My dress reeks of primrose and jasmine,

I shall not decline I loved it all.

Even the early blows of the coming winter,

The yellow dead leaves on my yard,

The nightly whistling of the travelling wind.

Alas! a drip of rain awakened me;

Fixed my eyes at the coldness of life,

A throng of graces gone with the wind,

Left me alone with my own self,

Only commisrated by a poor fellow;

An angel like figure, consider to be,

Respite from pain, here I stand,

Waiting the dirt to conceal me all!

© Photo: Kaoutar Rouas © Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed

Please, Forgive Me! – Poem

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Woman Walking on the beach, love

Marrakech

If I feel this way and I was the one to leave you How do you feel after everything I did to you?

If I still think that it was the right thing to do Why do I miss you and wonder if you, too, do?

Why do I still fancy us laughing and holding hands And traveling together to foreign lands

I never loved anyone the way I loved you And I know I was the one and only for you

But love wasn’t enough and I needed more I had to look for it by going out the front door

I never thought that we’d be apart one day And that each of us would go their separate way

Love caused us bruises and scars and too much crying It left us there hanging, suffering and almost dying

Me leaving, you hurting, I blame it all on destiny Because it refused to keep us together as one entity

I hereby stand, bow, kneel, and beg you to forgive me Praying that guilt would stop hunting and torturing me

I guess Karma is here to avenge you and take your side As for me, I’ll gladly stay here to pay and I won’t hide

© Photo by Kaoutar Rouas

© Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed

Give me back my youth – Poem

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A picture of Sunset in Tangier. Photo by Kaoutar Rouas

Casablanca

Oh, time, you’re running fast with my age in hand,

Leaving me no chance to think over then to stand

By the change in our life, that of a new brand;

No way to enjoy the womanly fulfillment in our land!

*****

    Hang on, go back to my youth

 *****

To see that the little tress-haired girls, now so old,

Who dared not swing with boys or perch on a tree,

Walking shyly at the back of the flock, are now bold;

Those once imprisoned by their own silence are free.

 *****

  Go back to my youth

 *****

To see the obedient, sensitive teens, once like me,

Who used to weep and fret about any ill albeit wee,

Are now steel-armed with teeth not tears of a crocodile,

Are now able to get their bodies and minds to reconcile.

 *****

   Give me back my youth

 *****

To Keep on giving recesses from what I formerly got:

Knowledge to youngsters, whether currently apt or not;

Let me teach recognition of their skills and contribute

To the girls’ awareness; they may pay themselves tribute.

*****

     Give me back my youth!

 *****

I may’ve got weak but my brain can still ponder a feat;

Let me try to clean some minds, remove pure wit in

Out of its bran and invite in snobs with hope to preen

And accept the change, the new values, true and neat.

  *****

    Then hurry up with my age!

*****

My remaining days will braise on a fire that is smooth;

Its flavour, pride of my womanhood, will tell you the truth

That I believe in my fellows’ defy and deal with any bad tooth.

Then, I can get escorted, white-clothed, to my earthy booth.

 *****

       So take all my age, take my life!

© Photo by Kaoutar Rouas

© Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed

My beloved Mohammad – Poem

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The Grand Mosque of Qaraouiine in Fez, Morocco

By Aberafi bourchim - Rabat

Night after night

I love thy sight

You spoke gently

kindness you knew

O blessed orphan of Mecca

Your glory still light the world

You are beloved Mohammad

*****

They tried till they got tired

To damage your glory

Pictures they pictured

Films they filmed

Yet, you are the star

gleaming in the sky

You are beloved Mohammed

*****

You are the dream

The dream of our sleep

You are the guide

For the lost and thirsty

You are beloved Mohammad

*****

When I saw your light shining

In fear I covered my face

The sky sheds tears

The grass grows

The touch of your hand was soft as silk

You comfort the poor

You are beloved Mohammad

Edited by Chokri Omri © Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed

The Stranger’s Traveling – Poem

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The Stranger's Traveling, sunset

By Abdoulkarim Nati - Milan

Everything to money comes down

But to God before and after is all weighed up

Count what you have in your pocket

It is all you are measured with.

Neither Goodness nor Reasoning matches it.

Neither principles nor puzzles have it

As a child; silly or a youth; too ambitious

No convictions are invoked

You are only wanted to stay handcuffed

Only used and abused

And relegated you expire

And melancholic you die

*****

For so long you have learnt to have good faith

Honest-hearted always to peace inclined

But you have not learnt to take your right

From the wolf’s fangs

And to turn fierce fighting those who fight you

Or to strongly stand out with your principles

This is only to end up empty-handed

And to spend the rest of your lifetime your fingers biting

*****

Count what you have in your pocket

It is all that people around you are counting

And even those who are close to you

Blasting you with heavy doses of praising

Disclosing attention and love to you

To them you are not beyond the price of a bread loaf.

*****

Do not be sad, O friend!

Were this eartly life of value,

It would not have been ruled by impostors

Followed by idiots.

*****

Fetch out the bag of honor

With all that makes of you a human

And travel the stranger’s travelling

Away from them lest as they are

You turn poor.

Endure the shortage,

The burning heat,

The oppressing wind of pain

And worship your Lord until

Certainty comes to you.

Translated by 

© Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed

The Spring’s whine – Poem

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Women comtemplating near a beach in Tangier, Morocco. Photo by Kaoutar Rouas

Casablanca

Here is the spring, looking beyond the pale,

Unhealthy, like a sick, depressed and very frail;

Faintly screaming in a galled, elderly-like sound:

My lively offsprings everywhere used to bound,

As I was once a fertile, generous flow of hope;

My colours covered every plain, hill and slope.

I was the realm of joy, of fancy and sweat dreams,

The occult of beauty, of inspiration that streams;

Ask my ancestors, my former lovers, my witnesses

About my old celebrations in colourful dresses!

Now, I doubt my grand-children will recognize me

If we all happen to survive after a beseeching plea.

*****

I’m the spring without fixed time nor green field,

Before, my views mesmerized everyone on earth

Now reeking of waste; my beauty has been killed;

My seeds have been buried alive even before birth.

I’m the spring, not on the schedule but behind;

Once, I was timely with a beginning and an end,

My days now go by as soon as they’ve come out.

Leaving me wrapped in heat and shod in drought,

They withdraw discretely, ignored and madly cross,

Driving my sparkling treasure to a regrettable loss.

 *****

I ‘m the spring, do you still recognize my features

With a vanishing beauty that no more captures?

Look at the flags in fading colours; in the height,

You fancy they’re dancing out of glory, at first sight,

But they tremble and recoil out of panic, out of fright

Of becoming grey because of smokes that  mass,

Or out of air sickness growing and leaping to the skies,

Foiling my generous rains from reviving the grass,

Smothering the breath, killing my birds and butterflies.

*****

I’m the spring whose name’s been bound to conflicts,

Not to any more lyrics, but blood shedding that inflicts

Pain; to some systems’uprise for renewal recesses;

Yet, this has taken away love and honest promises.

The earth has blushed out of disappointing shame

Then has gone pale out of horror and burning flame.

My name’s thus been falsified, my colours let alone;

My identity and the very spirit of seasons are gone.

 *****

Tell me, then, where is the greenness of my lands

My butterflies dances and my birds’ singing bands?

Where is the magical dye of my blue skies and seas,

My flowers and my sheltering habitats of my species?

Where are my sunny smiles, my visitors, my admirers

And the yearning, the whispers of my numerous lovers?

I’m the spring, not a byword; if you can't give me a faint salute,

Nor save my face, make of me the autumn’s substitute!

© Photo by Kaoutar Rouas

© Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed

A Response to Racism

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Response to Racism. Moroccan Children

Boumalne Dades, Morocco

Yeah that whole group, they were born that way.

Arrogant, dangerous, and dirty, I think that’s what the world is trying to say.

WHAT? Wait up hold on just for a minute.

Are we really still that ignorant?

You tell me they were born that way.

***

Are you really that blind or are you simply that lazy, believing everything you hear?

Did you ever consider that is like holding up a spear?

Take a second look I beg of you please.

I can see a bigger problem cutting us off at the knees.

***

What you see on the news represents a small percentage.

Maybe you should do some research and see the full image.

You see racism exists in us all, a fact we must not deny.

So why are we choosing to lie instead of open our eyes?

***

Generalizations cut deep and cause a terrible reaction.

A whole nation believing we need to take action.

*Trigger warning* we are killing in the thousands,

Trying to conquer a world because of our first initial reactions.

***

Do you find discomfort in witnessing murder; does it mess with your soul?

Perhaps you should reconsider labeling nations as a whole.

Everyday conversations whether you like it or not,

Can sometimes come off as a very problematic threat.

***

If you experience negativity, or even worse a threatening action,

React as you will but take a breath before you start firing.

Don’t throw out labels that cripple humanity.

Attack only those who tainted your sanity.

Please God I beg of you, don’t write off an entire ethnicity.

***

Take a second before you start running your mouth.

Calling a whole people arrogant, dangerous and dirty,

Creates monumental problems because you see, you are labeling all of humanity.

***

Please don’t allow yourself to forget, if someone wrote you off because of your identity, You too would rise from your knees fighting for your equality.

Response to Racism. Moroccan Children

© Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed

Who are you…?

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Achekar beach in Tangier, Morocco. Photo by Kaoutar Rouas

By ibtissam Ait Rouga

Doubts within certainty

The grave of the infinity

The child of infertility

The hallucinations of sanity

 ****

Who are you?

A mad star at night

Trying with all her might

To jettison the gown of light

The sword of right

Going out of sight

To the unknown leaving the fight

 ****

Why you?

The destroyer and the savior

The current and the anchor

The slave and the master

The bless of peace within the arms of danger

What are you?

The spirit of my spirit

Your spirit’s shots I don’t merit

So agonizing, I don’t bear it

Nor can my heart leave it

To find you, I shall be lost

For my death is your life’s cost

 ****

Who are you?

Tasty drops of rain

Were they water or wine?

An endless composed line

Of a cheerfully painful hymn

From the devil or divine?

Who are you…?

© Photo by Kaoutar Rouas

© Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed

Despair I am – Poem

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Sunrise in Tangier Morocco. Photo by Kaoutar Rouas

By Majdi Bouguerra - Sbeitla, Tunisia

Alone in my room.

Engulfed in a cloud of gloom.

Regret is ever my doom.

Is that life until the tomb?

 ****

Those who loved us we jilt.

Those whom we love us reject.

Elusive bliss is but a flash

In a  life of heart crash.

 ****

Was I truly myself?

Had I run out of feeling

When I saw those tears rolling?

No sorry had I felt

For that blood unduly spelt.

For that callousness out dealt.

 ****

Unjustly proud did I feel

To unjuriously that Paradise seal,

To disdainfully that love abjure,

To terribly my loneliness ensure,

To off those caring throbs steal,

To foolishly strive a singularity endure.

 ****

Void has been since she went.

Amock that has my feelings sent

In an aborted quest for an elixir to heal

My heart short of feel.

 ****

Cruelly did I dismiss

The love today I miss.

So strangely did I will

My ever tormenting standstill.

****

Her angelic countenance I slashed,

Heedless of the tears she dashed.

Manly arrogance did I show

To a wingless heart sunk so low.

Cryingly begging she entreated

My fading humanity now depleted

 ****

Eerily unfeeling I was

To that distraught heartly cause.

Out of tears she run,

Nothnig for me than fun.

Ahead I went inadvertent

Of the dim future awfully latent.

 ****

And now at a crossroad I stand.

Bereft of a single caring friend.

Her bemoaning souvenirs I strive to flee

To keep my hideous feat out of see.

Yet, mortifying contrition is what I got

For what a cruel soul once begot.

 ****

No alleviating forgiveness is reachable

For a torment as yet unforseeable.

In a limbo I am exhausted to proceed,

With only remorse to my heart feed.

The sky would my mourning surpass,

For a haunting shame out of class.

 ****

Away with no return she flew,

After her hopeful dreams I strew

After her innocent heart I slew

After shattering our oneness of two.

 ****

To what despair I would  sink no clue.

In a life where friends soo few,

Where solely heartbreak is true,

Where her poignant absence is ever anew.

 ****

Hopeless another I seek

In a world strangely turned bleak,

Before my soul gets dimmer,

Before my heart loses its glimmer.

Alas, eschewed I am at the corner

In a world where I became a foreigner.

 ****

No longer at home do I feel,

Even to myself I lost appeal.

Oblivion would my heart seal,

To ensure my perpetual ordeal.

As though I forever appear

Somebody one day would get near.

 ****

Afore an appalling past.

Ahead a loneliness to last.

For now, an agony steadfast.

© Photo by Kaoutar Rouas

© Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed

Holy Oath – Poem

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Lovely Red flower. Photo by Paolo Moundir

Tunis - Soumaya Ghaddhab

My noble knight and I

Were born upon a barren land

Bathed under the weeping sky

Holding hands, each with a suffocating cry

Then, I didn't know when his eye

Is going to reflect I.

For him I gazed through the mist

With a quivering heart inside my chest

And a forbidden keepsake in my waist.

When he' departed

I locked the gates of my pure heart

And handed its keys to Aphrodite.

Here I am with an assiduous mind that raves about our days of yore

And a heavy-heart of zealous emotions.

Through the night, I creep to the foggy forest

In which you and I exchanged a holy oath;

O my gushing heart! For how long can you bear the wounds of  passion

O my fading soul! For how long can you resist the ceaseless call of  death

For, I am replete with dejection, imbued with agony

Yearning to meet my noble man

Someday I don't know where.

Inconsolable me, bearing the forbidden seed of a desperate love

O Zeus! I conjure you to hear my plea of mercy

O Aphrodite! Bring back the pulse of the heart to me

For as you can see, life is unsavory without he ...

****

Meandering in her small world

Beyond the farthest edge of a night

Beneath the glittering veneer of lost stars

Gazing at the forlorn moon

Staring at its opalescence

Then tears of a sinking heart blurred her vision

Suddenly, a swift nostalgia crept into her memory

Triggering an outrageous flood of muffled feelings

Bulky feelings that stand heavy on her vulnerable soul

She recalled every valuable moment of serenity

She reminisced every second of glee

But now her face craves for a laugh

Her eyes lack that magical sparkle

And her body is now haunted by his ghost

This arduous love is erasing her, destroying her, killing her

She is torn between phantoms of her bleak present

And shades of her mystic future

Only her glowing past  keeps fueling her effete corpse

To move, to talk, to breath ...

 ****

I packed my bags and I decided to leave

Because in Mr. Hart I still believe

I armoured my heart with patience

And I injected my mind with a dose of hope

O Allmighty! endow me with prudence

And grant me the  perseverance  of persistent pope.

I landed in the city of fairytales

And I questioned  fairies and even the silent nightingales

About  the famous Mr. Hart

That tore many hearts apart

Then, and old desperate fairy told me “ Oh, Bloody Mary!

Your quest is scary, rare and dreary”

As I sat on a barren hill

Reconsidering the fairy’s goodwill

A crooked Elf appeared

Wearing dull rags and caressing his grayish beard

He pointed with his trembling hand to the shore and said:

“I know what you' re looking for;

You long to find a cure

To unlock your own door  and to rekindle your fading corps.

But be aware because beyond that shore

Your plain eyes may pour

And you will squander your life I’m sure

So, dear overlook this lethal quest before you deplore

And ask for Mr. Hart never more!"

© Photo by Paolo Moundir  

© Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed

Kathy’s Tulips – Poem

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Three beautiful Red flowers. Photo by Kaoutar Rouas

Rabat
We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light. Plato (427-347)

The watchful gods,

The revengeful gods,

You and me

And the interminable suffering.

The tulips,

Kathy’s tulips.

 ****

Iranian music fills the room,

The Santur stands out

Supreme and majestically.

It brings out

With its sad notes

The beauty

Of the tulips,

Kathy’s tulips.

 ****

The music builds

To a crescendo,

The watchful gods

Frown and shudder,

The Santur creaks

 Of dismay and pain

And bleeds, and bleeds

On the tulips,

Kathy’s tulips.

****

The tulips,

These coy demoiselles

Sway and dance

Their faces are red

Not blood red.

Voices from far away,

Eastern voices,

They say,

Break loose out of

The loudspeakers

And walk in beauty

In all sensitive souls.

They speak of death and agony,

Of treachery and dispossession

To the tulips,

Kathy’s tulips.

 ****

The revengeful gods

Uncover their fangs,

They want blood

And more blood,

Their thirst is difficult

To quench.

They want blood,

But there is none left.

They look at the tulips

In despair,

The want the tulips,

Kathy’s tulips.

****

But the very voices

That poured

Out of the loudspeakers

Melodious verse

Broke loose and

Chased the revengeful gods

And saved the tulips,

Kathy’s tulips.

Photo by Kaoutar Rouas

© Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed


A Dream – Poem

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Flowers from Morocco

Rabat

Once upon a time

When words were still words

And smiles were real

And not plastic

I read on your lips

A poem about love and life.

Your eyes in their fascinating beauty,

I remember,

Broke superbly my ice

And the ices imprisoning my person

And shattered my deadly silence

And all the silences

Of people like me

****

You came to me in a dream,

Out of the wilderness,

Beautifully wrapped

In a shroud of flowers and promises,

Exquisitely perfumed

With heavenly rose waters.

I was totally mute,

You Taught  me how to talk.

I was dumb,

But you made me hear

Your sweet whispers.

How wonderful and sweet of you.

I was blind,

But your angelic looks

Lighted up my path

And brought joy

To my oft-bruised heart.

You taught me all

These wonderful things

And more, and more...

****

In my dream,

I remember,

I saw your heart

Sailing desperately

Very rough seas

In search of a calm haven,

Without any hesitation

I opened my heart

To give shelter to yours.

****

But, today

Your smile

Is no more like your smile.

Your lips,

Are no more like your lips.

They bear no song,

No poem,

No sweet stupidities and oddities.

Alas, just coldness

And nothingness

And cold indifference,

So deadly.

****

I came to you

In my sweet dream,

Full of life and zest

And hope,

Yes hope,

But your stifling silence

Almost annihilated me.

I first whispered your name,

Then shouted for help

And sobbed of despair,

But all this in vain.

I only heard the echo

Of my appeals

And their sound

As they shattered

Against the wall of your indifference.

I sought an answer in your eyes

But your eyes

Were emotionless and expressionless,

Totally empty.

I came to you in my dream

But this time

You were different

And  indifferent...

Photo: Paolo Moundir Photography

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On Enmity and Friendship – Poem

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Portrait of a child - Rio Febrian

Tunis

Down! Down! my Enemy

And read not my pity and sorrow,

Lest, perhaps, you wake up

And become my Friend tomorrow.

look!

Will it be of profit for you

My Enemy not to be my Friend

And help me not to help you

And act on when shaking my hand?

Yesterday went on and today

Has gone wailing to end itself soon.

My people are down to earth

But I weep and look at the moon

That has always conferred warm light

On the sky and never told for whom.

True,

We all have dreams and fears

Of sailors who have seen

The sea and the waves turn angry

And take everything to drown our land.

Farewell to arms, goodbye to fears,

To you I will never give my health.

I will give my best to life and friendship

When enmity had and has always death.

Long and tiring is the journey

To the Lighthouse yet without it

Everything always means nothing.

Photo courtesy Rio Febrian

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Smartphone-Happy Culture – Poem

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smart phones

Rabat

Murders occur daily

In battlefields

In streets

In Subways

In neighborhoods

People are pushed to their death

Under trains, cars or lorries

People held at gun-point

Shot at blank-range

Beaten ferociously

People bleed to death

But unlike in old times

Nobody stirs a finger to help

Or assist a being in danger

Us humans instead

Snap photos

Film aghast scenes

For posterity

For the news

For YouTube

For history

We say with no shame

Whatsoever

Then we retreat in our social networks

To display our bounty

And Debate

Press like or dislike

Discuss

How disgusting

Our values are gone down the drain

We are mere verbal species

Unable to act as humans

We are only concerned

About our internet values

Our popularity in YouTube

Our image in Facebook

Our gossip in Twitter

We are despicable

No more socializing

No more gathering

No more dinner parties

No more discussions around fireplaces

Maybe no more feelings

No more true love

We are computer slaves

Chained to theses ghastly machines

Rapaciously consuming thousands of images

Of terrifying scenes

Of desolation

Death

Crime

War

And what have you

Goodbye caring human species

Welcome smartphone cold beings

© Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed

The Tormented Domes – Poem

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Moroccan Fantasia, Moroccan Knights

Rabat

The domes are talking softly to the sky

We do not know if it is a prayer

Or a mere incantation or just

Ordinary gossip

This palace is spacious and full

Of unspeakable intrigue and hatred

Dating from centuries back

Huge candles flicker inside on and on

To light this emptiness over emptiness

Outside the kings used the water pavilions

As a gateway from retinue’s ongoing rivalry

And the daily grind of deceit

There is much torment in the air

So strong

That even the scent of flowers

Cannot erase or subdue

In these premises

There were once powerful men

Covered in the glory

Of huge empires

Strong armies

And so much oppression of the poor

And peasants

Their wretched destinies

Haunt this place

And will do so maybe for eternity

The beautiful marble pillars

Recount of unsettled times

Of the boy king’s regency

Overseen by his fierce uncle

Telling of myriad deceit

And an uncountable betrayal

Jockeying for power

And chronicling

Of the inhuman blinding

Of the eyes of enemies

And firing their severed heads

As cannonballs over

The crenellated walls

The air still reeks

Of the stench of death

And the unspeakable smell

Of innocent blood

Spilled for the glory

Of king and empire

Of bards praising horror

Out fear of torture

At royal hands

That had a sickly

Penchant for blood

There are also tales of wild romance

Under intricate roof brackets

Covered with calligraphic decoration

But these are not recounted by the domes

In their celestial narration

What purpose

Are these great piles of architectural splendour

To the memory

Of blood-thirsty monarchs

If the sublime gate

Is one of human demise

Photo by Paolo Moundir - Photography

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The game of Black or Gray – Poem

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A photo of a Canard, duck sailing in a lake in Morocco

By Nouha Habouria - Tunis

Sailing to the unknown,

They have all disappeared.

The crews moaned and

A dusky cloud appeared,

Alone in a crossroads

Waiting in dreadful fear

Dreaming of an understanding ear,

Of seeing a brother walking there or here,

Or simply of listening to the tender word “dear.”

A hoarse voice

Coming from the foggy void

Says: “you have no choice,

Here, there is no understanding ear, dear.”

Then, the voice vanishes in the air,

And a laughter comes from nowhere.

Drops of bitter sorrow fell from his exhausted, desperate, disillusioned eyes

Unfortunately, he lost his “I”.

A merciless deafening thunder crashed the sky.

It was only the sound of his deep sigh.

“Go there, so far, it is a paradise where everything you can buy “

That was the  Lie

The Lie that throws the blind in a maze till they die.

The poor man is falling down, falling down, falling down,

The poor man is falling down and he lost his empire.

From a king to a squire

Burnt into a cruel fire

Listening desperately to the

Melody of a sad lyre.

Horror and terror

Shouts and doubts

Cries and sighs

Tears and fears

“I lost the rhyme”

Chaos

Chaos

Chaos

He sent a picture to the family

A raised hand shaping “v “

Is it reality?

A light breeze shook the rootless tree

Unfortunately,

The “V” wasn’t for victory.

The letter was to say “Vice”

To convey the bitterness of the life of mice

Eating only rice

Turning each day the dice

Once or twice

To decide whether to leave or stay.

It’s the game of

Black or Gray?

There is black, here is gray

So where to stay?

The golden token

Of Wealth and Freedom

Is now broken

The ghost of an agonizing dream is now dead and frozen

The crows’ moaning was indeed an omen

The huge doors widely open

Turned to be nothing but the gates of a cemetery, a hellish entry.

And that was the truth never spoken

I hate remembering that cursed date

When I went through the gate

Expecting something great

And finding myself in a slave state

Facing a horrible fate, with no mate

Now that I’m dead

Only one wish is turning around my eternal bed;

To be a Phenix,

To rise from the ashes and conquer the world

But before that to exclude the poet and steal the word

To say

I am sailing back to my homeland

There was my beginning and will be my end.

Photo by Kaoutar Rouas

© Morocco World News. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, rewritten or redistributed

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