A University teacher and poet, living in Sousse, Tunisia.
-The writer of 5 volumes in English language: Transcend (2018), Rebirth (2019)and Number One (2020), The Co-Avid Breath (2021) and Hurricane (2022). She wrote 2 poetry books in Arabic and 2 short-stories, entitled “Alone” and “Coincidence”.
– Her poems featured in Writing in a Woman’s Voice, The Writers’ Club, The Criterion Galaxy: International Multidisciplinary Research Journal, Dumpster Fire Press, Medusa’s Kitchen, The 2020 Annual by the Elizabeth River Writers, Valiant Scribe, Impspired Magazine.
I stopped staring at the moon, Projecting beautiful female faces into it, Admiring unattainable ladies, Wishing to become their lovers soon, I ceased talking to the ‘mone’ The way Philip Sidney did, Why asking whether love there was like here? And if the moon sympathized with his lovesickness, Isn’t that weird, reader? Didn’t he know that it’s of no use Conversing with a speechless muse In the heart of that blackened afternoon? I ceased talking to the moon, The way Percy Shelley did, Why the pillar is its pallor, It’s weird reader, isn’t it? What matters is not the color, Solitary, among the stars, yes, Yet, can oust them and be the tycoon With the spell of a sparkling spoon. What I can say about the moon, It looks like a round cocoon Filled with heavenly omens, Billion eyes witness the light, Only poets romanticize the breasttaking sight What I can say about the moon, It looks like a distant balloon, We’ve been accustomed to investing our childhood Through nickelodeon cartoon
To breathe or not to breathe
To breathe or not to breathe That's the answer When the sun layers Infringe my slumber, Allah, I turn to, With solemn heart, Secular brain thoughts, Apolitical chamber His grace, I do remember Eyes open, Hands stretched, Legs straightened, not like cucumber To breathe or not to breathe That's the answer When the sun layers Tickle my makeup-free face In the heart of windy September I crawl into the silky bed Made of tender timber Touch the bone of my North African race Jolt forward At the view of the chaste sky, Neat breeze, Potent scent of amber Amidst a crazy, Deadly world My transient insomnia Not yet fixed by that psychiatric plumber To the question of possible trace Of surpassing doomed December, To breathe or not to breathe That's the answer ...