petit copain


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I feel your naked body against mine,

your warm breath

the sky upon us whispering its good mornings and

the cool breeze touches us

we shiver

we smile, we giggle

your warm breath against my ice skin

despite the gentle wind, we

feed upon each other’s mildness and

depth inside of you





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I believe that,

if I were to be threatened under the force of a weapon 

I wouldn’t fight back,

or talk back.

I haven’t given up on life,

I have, long ago, accepted death

I would like to at least leave this loud place

in silent.


Throw us away


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To me the most liberating experience would be stuck in an island, isolated from the rest of the world, sleeping in simple cottages with a couple of my good people. No internet, no network, no phone nor television, just us, the waves and the animals around us. I think everyone needs to cut themselves for a while from the others, go to a place far away from the busy life of a metropolis, an area that forces you to make things using your hand, that forces you to watch the nature carefully, until you discover what abilities you are capable of, and how well you picked your companions



My mom calls me a hippie


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according to my mom, I am a hippie. Here’s the meaning of the word “hippie”; according to her:

” Hippies are these individuals with oily, dust colored hair, wrapped around and tied up”

” hippie girls always wear deserted, tattered clothes, more than once piece together, with strange symbols on them, and big baggy bags ”

” I always see them in Rabat, smoking around with their friends with glasses as dark as their fingernails. Strange big shoes, laughs giggling and a bottle of whisky in their hand”

“So stop looking like them”

– Mom, do you love me though?

– Of course I do! You are always going to be my special girl!

She hugs me and we laugh about at the other hippies roaming around Rabat, television and my mother’s imagination

I love her to death and beyond death, and if I am a “hippie”, I would be my mother’s little hippie girl, with imaginary flowers in her head, and a big smile on her face



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In the last two years I have lost both my uncle and my grandfather
both on one year
or one on each, I can’t remember exactly
just like how I can’t remember that they are no longer alive

I still think that they are still here
that when I go back to where they once stood, I would ask where they are
and I would get blank faces as a response
and my vision will get blurry

Not once have the rest told me in what way did god take back his own
was it sickness? was it normal?
was it painful?
Not once have I dared to drop the question as well

even when I visited grandpas grave have I not believed it
maybe for that moment only
maybe for that moment only
for seeing his wife touching the grave like it’s her first time, nearly collapsing
reading on him, in her voice I heard sorrow
in between her words I felt longing
she too, doesn’t believe it
even when both of us stood in front of that grave
and my lips haven’t parted, only to breath
my vision became blurry, again
the water we allowed to be poured on the grave washed it
the flowers around it bloomed, slowly
but bloomed
the grave was beautiful, but death wasn’t

My uncle, I haven’t been to where he was buried
since there is are no tombstones used in Oman, for the dead
I wouldn’t know which is which
I remember, this same uncle
have once took me to visit his brother, my other uncle
to where he lays
is my uncle now buried next to him?

I also want to be buried
but next to my grandfather
I want to have a tombstone
I want flowers to bloom next to me





I keep searching for your name between the whispers of the dying beggars in the corners

and your face in the beautiful cheap girls of the street


the windows, the old windows told our whole stories

to newly weds. The bed, too, said too much


more than once have I left my door unlocked on purpose

but never have I left my heart open again.

Amnesia and other things

I have lost my touch

they keep telling me, I can do everything, I can concur the world

I keep telling myself I can be strong I can do it I can change the world

I don’t want to own it I want to change it, but what can I change what do I want to change what am I

I lost my touch I lost it

I lost the ability to breath I don’t need the tight places to suffocate I don’t need to be on the highest building I don’t

I have lost it I can’t breath I can’t express how the salt brushes against my wounds how the flesh burns I can’t explain how delightful I feel for my stupid 2,2 I


say talk about the anxiety I got last night how much I cried how close It felt to death how scared I was how much my heart was beating so close to the outside of my chest how much I

can’t explain…