-A University teacher and poet from Sousse, Tunisia

-The writer of Rebirth, Transcend, Hurricane, The Co-Avid Breath, Number One, Halycon and the Screaming Earth, three volumes in Arabic and three short-stories: “Alone”, “The Moody Bookworm” and “Coincidence”

Old Story

Stella is still telling the same old stories,
Her jaw keeps releasing words, to and fro,
Up and down, forward and backward,
Evacuating dangerous scenes
Of a man, sober and obscene,
Of fairies, dreamy and serene,


Her mind is crammed with the same folk tale,

Her contemplating eyes, fixed like the gaze of a starving tiger or a famished whale,
Her hands, wavering in the air like an orchestra man, exalted with nostalgia
At the sight of the ballet dancer


Like a dreamer, on cloud nine,
Stuck to the redundant fumes of utopia,
Inhale,
Isabel sweeps her inundated sneeze,
Cleans the bleeding thumb,


Exhale,
The tragic disappearance of the dupe numb,
The extinction of the innocent nymph,
Amid that bushy forest,
This witch, with a sparkling garment, a sordid cane, a magic spell,

An organic spit on those poisoned mushrooms, on sale,
Travels nonstop,
Preserves the sour shop,
Avoids an approaching drop,
As an acrobat, on the woody bench,


Like an amateur actor, stuttering the long script,
A new adventurer in hip-hop,
With an amazing desire to Sing even in nearer public closet,
Dance in tunnels,

Questions

She’s lost appetite to think or aspire,
She’s been caught into the chain of regret,
She’s asked herself so many questions
About that fleeting time,
When she dreamt to be the most beautiful Bride in the neighborhood,



When flowers were dispersed 
                at the Protestant Church,
When guests were smiling to her beaming face,
When her groom was holding her hand as warm as he wants,
Whispering to her: “I love you, Sweetheart. You look gorgeous today. From now on you are mine, my soul mate, My darling, my everything”



She’s inquired about this moment,
When the ring suits her delicate finger
In the depth of December
When the mutual vows crept out from Their throats



Only then did she kiss her mom
Bade her farewell
Sheer panic,
Not angelic,



Like the disheartening love Story on board the Titanic
She spoiled her day before it comes true 

Litter Picking

In a few ports of the world, litter picking makes the poor  
money