The Regional Movement

I burst into laughter today as I was reading the ministerial note recently launched about the 'regional movement' of the teaching staff. The word ' transparency' is what made some of my wrinkles form in scorn and contempt. Transparency is not a favor to be done to or to be bestowed on the teaching staff so that it can be talked over in these notes. Rather, it needs to be applied, not talked over. We already know that some ghosts always break the rule of transparency. The ministerial note touches on transparency as though it were something commonplace. That is simply why they focus on it in these notes. Instead of penalizing those who have broken its rule many years now, those in charge state that it must not be broken at all costs. They preach, but they don't practise. Frankly, this reminds me of a grammar teacher telling his students that he doesn't make grammar mistakes, a writing teacher telling his pupils that he doesn't write badly or a judge telling the accused that he doesn't do his convicts an injustice .These teachers and the judge aren't supposed to tell their students they don't have these defects simply because they are not expected to have them. So, why should they tell their students and convicts these things? The same thing applies to transparency on the part of those in charge of the 'regional movement

I Wish I could Take some University Teachers to Court

I wish I could take several university teachers that I know to court. They have been behind both the despair of many hard-working students and the undeserved success of many poor students, particularly female ones. I am not talking out of the spread rumour. As an ex-university student and a friend of several university teachers, I am once more stressing that they need to get their just deserts for their injustices. Among the latter is the fact that many of them do not assess effectively, do not correct exam papers, and do not treat girls and boys impartially. Also, some others correct faces, not levels, stress on attendance, not participation, and appreciate students who are good at flattery, not those who challenge. You may say that not all university teachers behave so. But what does this have to do with what I am hinting at? Can't you see that only two unfair university teachers would suffice to lead a student astray? Can't you see that only one teacher can negatively impact on the whole university as a rotten fish does to the fresh ones in a basket? What I can't understand is why some university teachers fall prey to a crying female student. What I can't understand either is why some university teachers are more lenient with those they know or sit with at cafes than with those they see only in class. I will not forget the university teacher who once gave a good mark to a girl sitting in front of me. The girl was a nuisance to many nearby testees, including me that day. She submitted her exam paper blank. Still, she ranked first at the subject we were tested on. The teacher in question has been a deadly virus to many strong spirits. We need to keep our university immune from such sorts of teachers. Rising up against them would be the last straw.

Dowry

Dowry as a step towards marriage is the issue some friends raised to me recently. In all sincerity, I have always held a certain attitude towards how much a dowry costs. That is, I simply consider it as a formality that is not worth all the fuss we make of it. Some rich suitors give it so much importance in that they are ready to give five millions. Others, especially those belonging to the middle class, give the bride around six thousand dirhams. Poor suitors, like me, can afford to give the bride one thousand dirhams or so. Whatever the amount of money one gives, it is married life that will matter in the long run. In fact, those suitors that I usually pity are the ones who give a dowry they can not afford. And no sooner does the wedding come to an end than this sort of men begin to make both ends meet. That is why frankness is always appreciated from the very start of any married life. If misery then crops up, at least, there will be no one to blame. The little dowry has made it clearer that what will follow must either be little or much. The ample dowry makes it clearer from the start that what will follow must always be much. Additionally, there is another problem which is that the bride's family usually appreciate the suitor who can afford the largest dowry. For instance, a poor suitor, like me, can't afford to marry the daughter of a businessman for the reason that the dowry I am able to give her is equal to the amount of money she spends when she goes shopping at the weekend. As for a girl who has despaired of marriage because of old age, a dowry no longer matters to her as much as getting married does. That is why I would appreciate it if a girl of beauty and wealth would not deem a dowry as necessary. If you find this sort of girl, it must mean that not giving much significance to the dowry can only be ascribed to its being a principle for her. In earnest, the poor should give a little dowry, and the rich should give a large dowry. Hearing of a poor man giving a large dowry is queer to me in that there will come a time when he will think back to the amount it costs and regret being showy.

The Kissed Frog

One of my friends once asked for a very beautiful girl's hand in my village, but she refused his proposal. When he related the event to me, I told him that he instantly reminded me of the cartoon of a fairy tale I used to watch on TV as a child. I am sure you all know the tale of the frog that turned into a prince the moment it was kissed by a princess. It is this fairy tale I am talking about. I am comparing this friend's story with the tale of the frog, for they have a lot in common. I very well know this friend; he has almost all good qualities, including wealth. The only defect he has got is that he is remarkably short. The frog was in dire need of being kissed so as to turn into a handsome prince, and my friend was in dire need of getting married to the beautiful girl so as to show her that he was the most well-mannered and kindest man she could ever encounter in her life. Happily, the frog was kissed. Sadly, my friend was turned down.

Newly-appointed Teachers

At the start of each school year, a number of new teachers are appointed to different places of work in different regions all over Morocco. Normally, the procedure of appointment abides by several criteria. One of the latter is that compared to male teachers, female teachers must stand more chances of being appointed to their preferred areas of work. Frankly, I support this criterion provided that it is respected to the letter and without exceptions. What I can not understand, however, is that some female teachers are appointed to remote places of work. And when we delve into the reasons behind this sort of appointment, we are told that the female teachers appointed to remote areas did not get as good a grade as the ones appointed in the vicinity of their homes. On the other hand, the male teachers who rank first and who are appointed in remote areas complain about the good appointments of the female teachers with an average grade. The male teachers who outshine female ones are given more remote areas, while the latter are given near places. What I am aiming at is that as long as female teachers are prioritized irrespective of the grade criterion, they must all be appointed to good working places. How would we account for the fact that some male teachers with a high grade and female teachers with an average grade being appointed to the same remote area? If there were a difference of sex as some say, why are female teachers treated equally with male teachers in this case? Why are female teachers treated unequally among themselves, especially that the excuse we give to male teachers is that female ones must not be appointed too far? If they must not be appointed far, how can we explain the fact that many of them work in very far places? If the grade they get is the reason you are going to provide me with, how do you explain that female teachers must not be appointed too far from their homes irrespective of the grade they get? By the way, I still vividly remember the flimsy and silly excuse a female teacher gave me about her resorting to nepotism to change her original place of work, Zagora to Inzegan. She said to me that unlike we male teachers, she must be appointed so near by reason of the hard conditions girls alone suffer from. In response, I said that I wished all girls had been treated in the same manner. " What about all other female teachers in remote areas? Aren't they girls too?" I asked myself. Now, I feel as though I were in front of a labyrinth, not knowing where to point my finger.

The Last Visit

I paid the land an inexorable visit
To teach a pupil and to learn a lesson;
It isn't a thing to regret, is it?
I paid the dunes the last visit to lessen
My hardships and to make my new life exquisite;
Even a cheetah hastens
Its pace to pounce on the prey so as to stay fit;
Why should I not leave the land since
I, like a cheetah, need to run fast to remain alive

A Mere Traveler

Yesterday, as I was about to lay my head on the pillow, a queer feeling permeated every vein of mine. I immediately racked my brain to find out what the feeling said. A few moments later, I inferred that it was only telling me that I had been a mere traveler up to now. I was born in Tangiers towards the end of November of 1986. I lived in this city for six years until I turned six. In 1993, I moved to Azerouadou, a southern village, the place where my father was born. It was there where I entered my primary school. I was seven then. As soon as my primary schooling was over, I moved to Tafraout where I began my schooling as both a middle school student and a high school student. When I got my Baccalaureate in 2006, I moved to El Jadida, a city in the middle. It was there where I entered university. I spent two years studying there and in 2008, I moved to the south again, for I had to receive my training in Agadir teacher training center. I graduated there in 2009, and three months later, I was appointed to a remote place next to the sand dunes. It was Zagora city. After spending two years in Zagora as a teacher, I moved to Sidi Ifni city, a new place of work for me though it is nearer to my hometown compared to Zagora. I may account for the queer feeling that I have been a mere traveler by comparing and contrasting Tangiers, Zagora, El Jadida, Sidi Ifni, Agadir, Tafraout, Azerouado. No way to compare, but only to contrast! I am sure many of you have gone through the same experience.

The Candle that Burns itself

During my discussion with some of my colleagues, particularly teachers of English, one of the questions they pose to me is whether or not I engage my students in extra-curricular activities, like setting up an English club in which students explore and show their talents. My answer to this question is always NO. This doesn't in the least mean that I am against going beyond the classroom. On the contrary, I encourage this, but personally, I have got no time for that for the time being. What I can't make out is why the ministry of education encourages me to work a lot with students both inside the classroom and outside it, while it doesn't encourage me to pursue my own studies. I do not think there is something wrong with sacrificing the time devoted to these extra-activities for the time I need to read, write, and continue my studies at university. Some of you may say that I simply need to organize my time and strike a balance between my teaching career and my personal studies. In response, I am already striking a balance as long as I have got a part-time job. Is there any more balance to strike? I don't think so. Many teachers, especially those of English, who have spent a large amount of their time preparing for the activities outside their usual working hours haven't pursued their studies. They are merely candles that burn themselves day in and day out until they are extinguished altogether. It is heartening they have so much benefited their students, but it is disheartening that they have unconsciously put an end to their academic life. Why do you think of becoming a candle that burns itself as much as it gains the wax it needs to light the way for a longer time? Frankly, the more I burn myself, the more inclined I become to gain more wax.

The Contradictory Educational System

Here is why I personally think our deteriorating educational system is full of contradictions.

1- Baccalaureate plus two university years with distinction plus a training year equal scale 09.
2- Baccalaureate plus three university years with an average grade minus a training year equal scale 10.

3- Baccalaureate plus three university years with an average grade plus two post-graduate years with an average grade minus a training year equal scale 11. The conclusion I may draw here is that the better our grades are, the more we descend the scale, and the worse our grades are, the more we ascend the scale. Also, the more training we get, the more we descend the scale; the less training we get, the more we ascend the scale; the more failing years we spend at university, the more we ascend the scale; the more quickly we succeed at university, the more we descend the scale. Anyway, nothing ventured, nothing gained as the proverb goes. I advise you to venture to fail so that you will gain a lot.

The Ceiling

How many times do I have to raise my eyes
To clearly see where on the ceiling the light lies?
I even put on my eye-glasses, but in vain;
Only a spider web stuck with many flies slain.

A socket I turn to, and a torch I light;
Maybe, it is a ladder I need to right
To find out what is wrong with the bleak ceiling;
As I touch it, I find it has been leaking.

Now, I see why all my blankets are soaked,
and why the light I have looked forward to is blocked;
The drops leaking,
My pores, they are penetrating;

The Girl Seeking Help

Every time I log into my Facebook account, I feel so curious to read and know about the latest, ranging from the comments posted in response to my pieces to the private messages sent to me. There is only one thing I strongly dislike to read. The latter is a private message from a girl seeking help with English. I can not even stand responding to this kind of messages, for when I do, I say the wrong thing. Normally, this kind of messages roughly goes thus:

" Dear brother,
I know that you're a teacher of English. Please, can you write me an essay about clandestine emigration," a girl sends me.

The conversation between these girls and me usually goes like this:

"Me: Who are you in the first place? I can't help someone I don't know.
She: No need to know who I am; do it for Allah's sake.
Me: Do you have a boyfriend?
She: Respect yourself; this is none of your business.
Me: I am sorry I need the answers to these questions so that I can help you.
She: Yes, I do. So what?
Me: Nothing!
She: Tell me! Are you going to help me. Yes or No?
Me: Yes, I will help you on condition you help me answer the questions I have in mind. Okay? Do you know me?
She: Yes, I do. I know your sister very well. She has told me you're so kind and helpful.
Me: Do you love your boyfriend?
She: Yes, so much! This is so personal.
Me: Why don't you ask him to help since you deeply love him?
She: He is not good at English!
Me: So he is good at what, then?
She: Stop it, please. Help me; I need to have the essay by Monday.
Me: As long as you know me, what do you think of having me as your lover?
She: I am sorry I have already fallen in love. Plus, I respect you so much, for I heard that you're well-mannered.
Me: Which one do you respect most: your lover or me?
She: you! For you're a teacher and you don't accompany girls.
Me: Which one do you love: me or your lover?
She: my lover! I can't live without him.
Me: Has he ever helped you with something?
She: never! plus, he left school at an early age.
Me: Why do you love him then?
She: He is handsome and romantic.
Me: Since you haven't got married yet, what do you think of my proposing to you?
She: I am sorry I treat as my brother. I can never get married to someone like my brother.
Me: What in me makes me a brother to you? And what in your lover makes him a lover to you?
She: Frankly, your readiness to help; as for my lover, his readiness to make romance.
Me: Okay, thanks a lot. Goodbye?
She: Wait! you promised to help me!
Me: I suggest you interview your lover instead about clandestine emigration because I am afraid that while I am brainstorming, and racking my brains, making a painful effort to come up with ideas to put down on paper, you will be having an enjoyable and romantic time with your lover."

Here, I end the conversation and block them. Dear readers, I am sorry for being 'hard'.

The Story of my Registration File

Yesterday, I was on my way to Cady Ayad university, at last making my mind to withdraw my file from it once and for all. I was very angry then, and as I arrived at the university, I hurriedly headed for the department of English where I deposited my registration file last year. You may all wonder why I decided to do so. You may also wonder why the young female official in the department burst into laughter the moment I told her about my decision. Through the following conversation that went between her and me yesterday afternoon, you will all know about my story with my file of registration.

Me: Hi. Excuse me, I want to withdraw my file from the department once and for all.
She: Hahaha...Ok, as you like. But why?
Me: For the simple reason that last year I registered at your department, but my name wasn't on the list.
She: Oh, it's a common problem. But you should have asked to rectify the problem.
Me: I did three times, but in vain. Plus, I was in Zagora, and wasn't able to come every now and then just to rectify the problem.
She: Hahaha; but is the withdrawal the last resort to you?
Me: Please, give me back my own file!
She: Hahah Okay, okay!
" Hahaha, this man wants to withdraw his file just because of this little problem, "she said to the colleague sitting next to her.
Me: What is the use of my file being in that room the whole year if my name didn't appear neither on the computer, nor on the exam lists?
She: Fill in this withdrawal document! And give me your identity card!
Me: Here it is!
She: Here is your file.

I left the university without thanking her because there was no reason why I should do. On my way back to Agadir, I wondered about what made the little female official burst into laughter every now and then. She even grimaced out of surprise. But, personally, I did not find it surprising to claim my registration file at a time when I was not registered officially. That is, my name must have been listed on both the computer and the computerized lists. For God's sake, what is the use of my file being kept there? I just have no idea what it was there for the whole year? If registering means keeping the file inside the department? What does NOT REGISTERING mean? Keeping it too? She burst into laughter perhaps because she was addressing a mere S5 student. When she asked me about my level, I said I was an S5 student.

Is there a Starless Night

Is there a starless night?
For I can not see the stars people tell me about.
All l can see is a starless night and no light;
Maybe, it is my vision I instead have to doubt.

I still trust the woman who once told me that stars fight,
But it is something I have no idea about.
How can someone who has never seen a starry night
Stand experiencing more of the bout?

Please, is there a starless night?
I am tired of being a down-and-out;
Through the desert looking for stars that are in sight.
My eyesight fails to see them just as we fail to see clouds during a drought.

A Strange Message

Yesterday, late in the night, I received a strange message via my mobile phone from a girl I do not know. In fact, she had intended to send it to a female friend of hers, but she dialed the wrong number which turned out to be mine. This was how she explained her mistake when I wrote back to her, asking for a clarification. However, the content of the message was a real mystery to me in that I contemplated it for long before answering her for the second time. The message goes thus: " Hi, my sweetie! I hope you're great. I've been busy these days. The guests haven't left yet. You know what? May Allah grant me the right man to marry! Please, pray for me, " she wrote. To test her whether she was true to her own words or not, I sent her back, saying that I was the right man, but that I had a few conditions to impose, the two of which were that I had already decided to give only a 500-DH dowry to the one I would propose to and that I would not celebrate the wedding whatsoever. To my amazement, in her response, she said that she was ready to accept only ONE DIRHAM as a dowry and that she deemed celebrating marriage as superficial. I was so glad about this news. Reading her ensuing messages made me feel as though the girl had read every single piece I wrote about the issue of marriage, for she instantly agreed to whatever I imposed on her. I had no condition to impose anymore. Afterwards, I set to ask her a few more questions to find out whether she really meant her promises. Here is my question-and-answer conversation with her.

Me: Are you sure you will accept ONE dirham? Are you serious?
She: For sure, I will do. I can even accept less than one dirham.
Me: I'm simply honest with you from the very start.
She: What matters to me most are my husband's manners and his devotion to Allah. By the way, I'm now twenty-four.
Me: Alright! That's truly great.
She: You know I have never turned down a man's proposal, due to his poverty.

This must mean that no one had proposed to her yet, I said to myself. How come she made the latter claim without even putting it into practice in the first place, I wondered to myself. The truth being told, I am more than certain that the girl in question is among the ugliest. If she weren't ugly, she would not have had enough time looking for the right man via her phone. Suitors would have quickened their pace to ask for her hand before she even turned twenty-four. If she were beautiful, she would not even have proceeded to waste her valuable time the moment she knew that the number she was sending messages to was wrong. It was her extenuating circumstances, such her ugliness and absence of suitors, that in one way or another forced her to adopt the principle of frugality. If she weren't ugly, she would have demanded a large dowry for the reason that the majority if not all of beautiful girls enjoy dressing well. If she were beautiful, she wouldn't have racked her brains to talk to a cart drawer, the job I told her I had. If she weren't ugly, she would have imposed on me her own conditions. Couldn't you say that she said YES to everything I told her? The idea that came to my mind before falling fast asleep was that the end justified the means. The means was her ugliness and absence of suitors; the end was all that she said to me, ranging from a one-dirham dowry to one's manners being better than money.

I Once Followed a Shadow

One day sitting in the shade,
A shadow passed by me hurriedly;
I stood to follow the trace before it might fade.
Tree by tree, I ran curiously
Please, I need some aid,
I uttered loudly;
It stepped aside
To let me pass freely
And to point a finger to a maid
Who herself of a shadow was made.

The Leaflet

One day, by coincidence, I came across a leaflet stuck on the wall next to the Culture Complex in Agadir that said that a university student was going to deliver a presentation about the importance of competences on the part of middle school students. It was the name of the presenter that attracted my attention and made me stop to peruse the leaflet. His name instantly brought me back to my high school days when he was my classmate for five years. We used to sit at the same table, and we immensely enjoyed our company. However, the thing that enraged me was the topic he was going to present. This friend of mine used to be an inveterate cheater at high school, and during exams, he used to catch glimpses of my own exam paper for answers. He was a real nuisance to me; he used to do all his utmost to get an above-average mark by asking me for answers to the questions. Frankly, I did not attend his presentation though he himself invited me to. I wish his topic would instead be how to combat cheating on the part of middle school students. If he had chosen this topic, I would have undoubtedly attended it.

I am Fond of ELT, Though.

I must admit that I am fond of ELT; it is normal, for as a teacher, I usually need to improve my teaching skills. However, this doesn't in the least mean that I should spend my quality time on reading about the latest teaching methods and approaches. I have tried reading all these things, and they have been good to me in class, but only recently have I discovered that I have wasted much time on nothing. Now, I have started on production, not consumption. Like George Bernard Shaw, I believe that those, who can, really do, and those who, can not, really resort to teaching. Why should I read about all the approaches to teaching vocabulary, grammar and pronunciation? Suppose I did? So what, then? Knowing how to put into practice one or two would suffice for me. The same, for me, applies to all other language aspects, be they spoken or written. For instance, a poetry teacher doesn't necessarily write good poetry no matter how great his or her teaching skills are. I may agree with those who are studying ELT day in and day out only if they intend to become an authority on the field one day. Personally, I would rather be a master user of English than a master teacher of the same language. Be careful! There is a marked difference between a master user and a master teacher. Both are great. But, for me, the former is more victorious than the latter.

Even Mosques

Even mosques are sometimes full of contradictions. One of the lessons the sermoner taught us today is that we prayers must not hasten to have our seats at the first rows if we happen to come late. For this might cause other prayers inconvenience. Islam, the preacher stressed, has taught us this as part of our behaviour as muslims, particularly inside the mosque. This may remind us of the common saying that goes thus: First come, first served. I frankly appreciated this particular act and have found it logical. Whoever comes late must not take the places of his fellow prayers, causing disturbance. Instead, they have to sit at the back. Surprisingly enough, towards the end of the sermon, I spotted some empty places at the very front that appeared very much like a patch. And I did not understand for whom they were left. On the spur of the moment, several senior officials dressed in white and a red fez appeared and entered the door next to the place where the sermoner was preaching. They immediately sat down and listened to the five minutes left of the sermon. I then knew that the very front was reserved for them. I did not know before that corners inside a mosque could be reserved. Contrary to what the preacher said, the late comers were the ones who sat at the very front. Still worse was the fact that the sermoner saw them. To be frank, the sermon should have been directed towards the senior officials, not the common people. In short, no one can deny that those who live in the ivory tower are usually the first ones to break not only the rules of citizenship and humanity, but also those of religion.

On Teachers

If we should teach as we test and test we as we teach, we should also teach as we get paid. If you are against this, think of yourself as a mere candle burning itself for the sake of lightening the way for students and darkening yours, especially when you will soon discover the bitter truth that you haven't yet put up a nest for your little birds.

I personally find it a mystery how some teachers who can't afford to buy a two-room house of their own talk about competency-based approach. Dear teachers, I'm sure you know about Maslow's theory. How can the ministry expect a teacher to teach well if he or she still worries about paying the rent?

The Eagle

Blessed with sharp eyesight,
And from a distance, it spots a rabbit;
I, scratching a mosquito's bite:
For years, I haven't found it;
It is somewhere in the blanket lying white
The eagle spotting me fight
Comes to my rescue only to emit
A saddening sound for my plight.

Born or Made?

Writers and poets are born, some people think. Others go on to believe that they are rather made. From what I have experienced, I agree with those who think they are made. I think that everyone is born with an ability to write, but not everyone makes of themselves writers in the long term. It is at this stage where we are different from one another. Some have decided to become writers shortly after discovering the pleasure of putting their own life experiences on paper. Others have made up their mind to become writers soon after reading a number of novels that touch on a sensitive part of their lives. Whatever the reasons behind deciding to become a writer, the idea of making yourself a writer is there. Just do your best to discover that inside you. Personally, there were several times when I felt the intention to write poetry as distinct from other genres of writings. It is not long ago when I started to write poems. I still vividly remember the day I decided to become a writer and a poet. That day was the turning point for me in that I didn't feel in any way that I was born a writer. I felt I was made instead. On the contrary, I decided to read widely so that like any other poet or writer, I would write genuinely. I have made a conscious effort, but I have never felt at any point in my life that I am born with readiness to write. Rather, I have laboriously developed my writing skill for years now. And I still need to polish my writing style more. In other words, I feel I am a writer who is made, not born. Besides, I do not think other writers or poets are born. One is not a born a writer; one becomes a writer. Our life experiences spur us to become writers. But few decide to sit at a table, take a pen, and write a few lines.

The Brightest Students

If any one of you happens to look for the brightest and most hard-working students who got their Baccalaureate with distinction, I advise you to pay the remotest areas a visit, somewhere in the mountains. There you will find the students in question working as primary school teachers. They have spent years working there, for the horizons have usually been open to those who got their Baccalaureate with an average grade. If you happen to look for the latter, pay high schools a visit.

As new university students, you have to make two great efforts: one is to study your modules hard; two is to do your best to convince your professors that you are industrious. If you fail to do the latter, you will have to make a new different effort; you need to get excellent grades at almost all subjects so as to make up for the lost effort.

I have been advised to set up an English club and to engage students in extra-curricular activities. Surely, all this benefits students; they learn English more communicatively this way. What I can't understand, however, is that those who have advised me to do so forgot to encourage me to pursue my own studies, for along with the position of teacher, I am also a student.

Gaddafi

Every tyrant is mortal;
Gaddafi is a tyrant;
Gaddafi is mortal.

Of course, there are some poor exceptions who pity the death of Gaddafi and the way he was killed. I understand their emotions simply because they are not Libyan, no close relative of theirs was killed by this tyrannical leader, and they find it hard to put themselves in the victims' shoes. They have turned a blind eye to the loss of hundreds of lives and have started to pity the loss of only one life. Hats off to them!

To my dismay, some have deemed Gaddafi brave and great. I don't know why. Is it because thousands of Libyans have been wrong and only one man, Gaddafi, was right? Or maybe because the innocent Libyans that have been killed deserved that killing? I can't see where bravery is. Isn't humanity a sign of greatness? Gaddafi lacked it during his lifetime. Some say he defied the west. But is it at the expense of the lives of Libyans could he defy the west best?
The death of Gaddafi has confirmed the universal thought that life remains nothing at the end of the day no matter what it offers humankind.

I Never Sing

By day, I never sing;
But, by night, it turns out I do.
Asleep, I hear a ring;
Awake, I never do.
Dreaming, I feel I sing,
Here lies the clue.
For waking up, I never touch a string
Of a guitar, blue and new.
I never sing;
I am sure I never do.
Sadly, only a few
Believe I never sing.
Only a bee that once flew
Left a tune and a sting
And to figure out the clue,
I reiterate I never sing.