I was born an orphan Amidst other orphans God created our parents Society conceived a home for the abandoned At this home of stifling misery Drunken with my own tears hot and salty I suffer in this raucous eternity. In Oujda, Lyon , Paris and London I witnessed the light arising behind the Moroccan horizon But it was soon darkened By the nocturnal solitude Within which I saw only the oblivion I have been living in endurance and sufferance Hand to mouth , under the shadow of a gigantic spider Sprawling over a sunken wall. In my dreams of dawns I await with fervour, the hollow days fall Time passed swiftly in languor I saw birth of evasive days Such was my monotonous refuge Such was the end of my opaque space. Each day I sank deeper into the wreckage of the vacuous abyss Under an insufferable pain , engulfed in my furtive tears. I saw birth of universe and its eclipse, Its sombre and abstract silence tormented my spirit. In my dreams, I’ve succumbed thousand times without regaining consciousness, But the sanctuary of my existence had become apathetic. I, who search euphoria in the stars of this universe far away, Like the calm of the nonchalant nights, I let go of a mordant sigh Under the arc of disarray. I feel this desire to live, and to relive, Once again, my unhappy and sparing childhood days. I always believed that the unfinished human duel Must save archaic stimulation And the ancient evil that universe exerted upon us And the total negation of the individual , To convince this society of recluses. Here I was again , In quest of incense in the centre of my enigma, There I found self interest in my divine destiny, I was thereafter insipid. Blinded by hatred, So intense that my heart pounded at a casual love but I, did not wish to die without acquiring the transcendental wisdom, Because I abhor lies Subdued by the doctrine of contempt and of sorcery. And giant’s steps, the time reversed across the migrating twilight O, wise king of the torrential rain, Of the streaming rivers , of gigantic mountains, of rebellious wind Of the vagabonds. For you only, I licked my wounds and the injury of my invisible sighs . O, wise king! my life is an extended sunflower upon an island Washed by waves under a dormant sun. I am like an unleashed soul, Crossing the savage dunes of time, where the grape harvests of The cursed spirit Propels against the race of the ogres . I am like a knowing soul Troubled by a stagnant anxiety Resuscitating the victorious revolt of my sufferance. I am like a perfidious soul , betrayed by the old age of the impotent time in front of your mystic gaze, I extinguished my reticent furore, Drowned myself in the emptiness of London . When will the torch of grace shed light On my mountains of doubt? Someone said to me : calm yourself ! But how do I calm down ? Forget the pains inflicted by the delusion? Forget the ill-fated sufferance? The taciturn and melancholic emotion In front of entombed human condition. I suffered so much in those faded days, Since long time, I was alone to sow the seeds of confusion Between French mutism ( silence ) English eloquence And Arabic rhetoric Although the verses emanated from my writing And the erratic structures were to be ruthlessly censored In chasing the intrepid battle of the London fog , Which has defaced the eternal sky, I remember the atrocity of the hazardous seas Where foam of my life was washed away by the angry waves. Incarcerated between two virgin stars The forbidden fruit to foreigners Sank deep into this muddy world. Rain or snow covering my immense sky. I came to offer you my odyssey , I came to sing you my rhapsody. As an innocent prey, I was blinded by a condemned love. Who are you, day of enslaved solitude? Who sent you to me? You, the deaf mute, have you reached the age of reasoning For understanding the rhythm of the silence? Whereas to me , I am accustomed to the shackled thirst , Where lugubrious autumn of quivering and withered leaves Rendered me vague satisfaction. Here I am , an immigrant against my will, Dissipated in this impregnable citadel, My anguished itinerary Like a stray cat under a twinkling star Dancing to the rhythm of the dawn of a No-Man’s Land. Immortal glory to the living thinkers of a locked Utopia, Who are dying under the gag of the bestial justice And under the deceiving eyes of a glinding vulture. Glory to the sanguine spirits, Glory to the mordant lips without rancour, Glory to the feelings buried in this eternal infinity. Immigrants of all nations, unleash your reins, But do not turn back the bridles. All these years , I shared with you the fruit Of my sorrow and my humble offering. O Sidi-Yahya , sage of all sages, Lend me a beautiful Houria, and a magic flute, Wild with passion, For tomorrow, I shall leave for the unknown Where no one await me, To the land where all bitter seasons vanish. I bless the sea of flame. This sea of carnage massacred and decapitated by the ranging waves, With their woeful chanting rites, Revived my memory of that intoxicating time Echo by echo Orphaned since the age of three severe winters, I was born to taste the humble pie of monotonous sufferance. One taught me to dream, But my nights were too ephemeral Where foretelling stars clash with each other. My moist voice , choking from time to time, Grazes the empty fringe (of my throat) Which irritates me to let go my sotto voce (suppressed)curses. I am baptised by the foams of Mediterannean snow And the shadows of virgin seasons. I was taught to write the words and rhythm, I was taught that the human pride is a voice Tamed by the desire of succulent and poisonous feat. My voice with ruptured flow of fluid Which became agitated in the night As a gush of blood, As a relentlessly burning furnace In the bright fires of destiny and of passion. I was born in a labyrinth where tears and sweat clash into each other In a criss-crossing deluge. I was told that my voice was like a source Inundated by the thirsty Apocalypse. I was born , for certain, to liberate my voice, My longings, and my emotion. The elders of the village N’gadi Gave me enlightening advice To rid of the boredom and the lingering nightmare. I left my village without their blessings. I left them my sac of bric-a-brac full of holes. My only companion was a talisman with the engravings Of the beggars of Souk-al Joutia . I became disoriented like a lame lark. I pursued all roads to hell and to Avatar. A foreboding invaded me , crushing my heart So long, the oppressive loneliness and hopelessness Good morning, the folly of dizzy dreams. End.