Days

As usual, waiting for the morrow
So as to pay for the days I borrow;
Just as they pass away
So do my current moments decay;
No matter how many minutes I save
Usually, my pores begin to leak like a sieve.

Some Say

Some say it is through speaking we bring dignity;
Some say it is through writing we do;
If I asked which, I would go for both.
Some say we must raise revolutionary banners;
Some say we'd better keep our lips sealed;
If I asked which, I would go for the former.
Some say it is no use hoping;
Some say it is no use dreaming;
If asked which, I would say I dream and hope every day.

Still Single

I went shopping the other day, eager

To cook this time a full plate;

Unwonted, I began to stagger

Through every stall straight;

A stall enthralled me from the distance.

I made headlong for it hence,

A little, pitiable girl selling mint.

My Class Teaches me a lot about Life

I begin to feel that my recollections of my schooldays are dimming day after day. That is why I seize every opportunity to put them onto paper. It is the pupils in my class that bring me back to them, particularly when I take notice of a personality similar to mine. Here, I would say that learning styles that pupils tap into tell a lot about the nature of their personality. I have learned that many pupils merely represent different sorts of people that I come across in everyday life. To me, a class would suffice to understand any society, for through it, one will be able to give voice to, and to understand, every individual.

Even though so demanding, the teaching profession has helped me get closer to people with different personalities, including mine. Some pupils, for instance, have taken to dressing more fashionably, while others have not. Some others take a great delight in devouring every newly-taught lesson, whereas others feel that it is no use racking their brains. One can, therefore, deduce that seldom do pupils delight in both the aforementioned interests at the same time. Some are obsessed with the latest clothes, while others are so fond of studies. Nobody can deny that this too is the case outside the classroom.

Out of my experience, I once looked forward to satisfactory work on the part of a really pretty pupil, but in the end, she did not live up to my expectations at all. From that time onwards, I begin to distrust appearances more intensely both inside and outside the class. Still single, I sometimes couldn't help thinking of a pretty pupil as a would-be wife of mine. However, on the stage, it is as though I spoke with some pupils at cross purposes. Female pupils who are slow on the uptake usually stare at me for so long at a time when pretty ones seem as if they are ready to shrug their shoulders out of disinterest.

In life, at large, I have already extrapolated from the comportment in question that people with beauty and wealth tend to flock with those who have the same feather as theirs. It is very likely that I will be treated as a mere brother in case I propose to a beauty and as a lover in case I ask a simpleton's hand. The remark I have noticed in class is no different from that of outside the class.

Irrespective of the remarkable decline of the level of pupils of today, I have observed that the majority of high achievers at school are either born to poor parents or born with a complex. Countless are the pupils who have proved this truism. I am so glad that I have experienced teaching a wealthy pupil and a poor one. Only towards the end of the school year did I discover that the former turned out to be the lowest achiever, while the latter, the highest one. Once again, like in class, in everyday life, necessity too is the mother of creativity, achievement and greatness. Pupils born to rich parents rarely have time for studies, for they hold the misconception that every dream of theirs is already at hand. So few of the latter are mature enough to think that wealth is not always enough for one to become an intellect.

The remainder of the class comprises mere aspirants who simply wait for the right moment to rise. I am so sad that people belonging to this category are few and far between. I once joined them as a pupil when some of my teachers disparaged us and laughed at the manner we pronounced some French words. Self-effacing pupils have come into being as a consequence of complexes, such as shyness, introversion and stage fright. I strongly believe that once they overcome them, they will rise higher and higher and thus leave ex-achievers behind. I myself experienced this shift a long time ago.

I have come to the conclusion that the personalities of these pupils are complementary with one another in that defects are not in the least the same. One's strength is another's weakness and vice versa. People, therefore, need to assemble around a certain task so as to best accomplish it. It is also because opposites attract as the saying goes. Yet, it is also a consolation to me that one polishes defects through years in the same manner as pupils grow in maturity, experience and knowledge through the school years. I am glad that my class has taught me this.

The Dilapidated House

I am certain that nearly all of us so often reminisce about our past, especially about those moments that have made a strong impression on our present life. In other words, it is real nostalgia for us. We look back on those events that have brought us to where we are now and try to see how this time the present may affect us in the years to come. I guess one has to take care of the current situation so as to guarantee that of the future.

Five years ago, as the national exam was approaching, I used to go to a solitary place in my village where calmness prevailed. I exerted myself there four hours. The thing that characterized the place was that it overlooked the dilapidated house of Mohamed Khair-Eddine, a Moroccan poet and novelist and that it was surrounded by cisterns; one of the latter was where I used to sit. At that hectic time, I had to revise so many lessons, including those of English. But, I chose to revise my English instead there, for I found more solace in the subject, especially that I had intended to write in it and that I was beholding the poet's house at that moment.

I began to read voraciously some simple stories, and do several grammar exercises. In the meantime, I cast curious glances at the dilapidated house. Its shabby appearance whetted my appetite for more reading. In those days, I heard that the poet was noted for knowing the names of every type of flower in French. In emulation, I too set to open my dictionary and examined different types of flowers in English, like daffodils and forget-me-nots that resembled those surrounding the cistern where I was sitting.

I knew that memorizing them was out of place then as a high school student. Still, it was a queer feeling, for I felt an insatiable desire to use them in my poetry too. For me, the dilapidated house filled me with more inspiration with time. And there are also times when I think of paying the solitary place a visit once again. Just beholding the broken windows made me wonder about the rooms where the poet used to sit whilst contemplating every aspect of nature.

I then knew that the location of the poet's house influenced his poetry. In like manner, the solitary place has also contributed to my own. Serenity and calm frequently took over me until dusk. One day, as the sun had nearly set, I immediately went down towards the dilapidated house, clutched the handle of the door for a few minutes, then headed home, leaving a dusty trace. Frankly, it is high time I dusted the handle for the second time.

I Have Been to a School

A satchel on my back, I approach the school;

I opt for a full, disruptive class,

And by the window, I sit on a stool.

Minute by minute, I hear the din of a race,

But the bell not yet rung,

I immediately take leave of the tutor

So as to join the world of poems sung,

And the poets who still loiter.

I Once Looked into the Glass

I did and in a moment beheld my eyes clearer,

The thing I never felt during my infancy!

To me, my tear-worn cheeks grew dearer.

Through the glass, I brought to life my irises and see

My fake wrinkles as they began to widen at the rear;

Then, I poured some water into the glass whence

I supped fervently as though I drank beer.

No more reflections and fancy

When drops of water in the glass permeated those of the tears.

I Sang a Chant

Though inexperienced, I had to sing it to shun misery;

Alone on the pastures and no one in sight;

Herds of camels cannot render my lines wrong or right;

Towards the climax, I eyed a shepherd in a reverie.

I chanted still until late at night;

Suddenly, I uttered some lines with a lisp, drowsy and weary;

To the herds' dismay, the defect roused the shepherd, ready to fight.

The herd and I instantly ran hurriedly like accomplices towards the ferry.

Feathers

On a shiny morning, feathers begin to fall on the ground I tread;

Henceforth, I prance like a peacock:

Kindred spirits from different climes I lead;

All of them have offered me boxes to unlock;

As a peacock, I have offered to feed

The passers-by until I hear on the door a knock,

A knock of a real rooster pecking at a broken necklace bead.

The Bird who Escaped from Captivity

Held captive since I came to the world of trouble;

His cage and my cot lay side by side.

Unable to make out his glances as they glide,

I innocently set to play with his beak;

The bars of the cage injured my wrist;

Thus, the blood shed enraged the bird:

My mother came to my rescue instantly

As the bird fled, no longer seen.

Life is Unfair

Inequality in life has been, among other things, a principal motive behind my writing pursuit. I often deem life as unfair, not because some of us are born with a silver spoon in their mouth or with a disability, but rather because most of us have made it so. I do not of course have the right to blame the handicapped for their disability, but I have the right to harshly blame those people who have made them disabled. Those in authority are never to blame for their prestige as long as they deserve the position they hold, neither are failures to blame since they themselves express remorse.

Inequality is pervading every corner of our everyday lives, ranging from job opportunities to the undeserved appointments. Out of my experience, for instance, two fellow female graduates of mine were once appointed to the same remote place of work, but later on, only one of them attained a working place in the vicinity of her home. She was able to do so simply because her father is a principal inspector at the academy. These two graduates were not treated on the same footing owing to nepotism that is still pervasive. Nobody can deny that some graduates are more equal than others. It is not because life has made them so, but because some people has made the lives of others appear so.

To me, I bear no grudge against anyone in case life itself is unfair, but I can not bear observing others' lives as they turn unequal. With respect to my teaching career, I would say that I do not blame myself for becoming just a middle school teacher with a meager salary. However, I soon begin to blame myself the moment I meet someone whom I once outshined and who now holds a higher position than mine. Frankly, I am ineffably glad about their achievement, but at the same time, I lament the fact that early over-achievers in studies hold a lower position than late underachievers. Here, so few form the exception.

Recently, as I was sitting at a table in a café, I couldn't help hearing several teachers complaining about promotion of their salaries. I honestly sided with them and hoped that they would be promoted the soonest possible. Still, I wondered why I had never heard a teacher complaining about their teaching competences. I then knew that there are some teachers who worry about money, while there are others who worry about their competences. It is a real pity that those with a high salary have not graduated from training centers, while those with a low salary have. It goes without saying that life is made unfair here too.

The yearly intake of M.A. and PhD holders is living proof that the analogies I drew above are undeniably true. If one dares to conduct an interview with this category of teachers, one will surely find the answer to where the secret of their success lies. It lies in that they have once applied for the position of primary school teacher, middle school teacher and high school teacher. However, to their dismay, they did not succeed to attain any of them.

They, therefore, had no choice but to pursue their studies. Anyway, that is the best choice at their disposal. In short, in Morocco, the current truism is that those fail an entrance examination three times or so stand more chances of holding a higher position than those who pass it only once. What a total paradox!