The Shelf

The shelves I behold intently
Like a mother by her little child;
One book after another do I catch,
To strive for a personal touch.

Orwell, the same life I led
My inspiration he bred
I have decided on the theme
Through the essays I read.

A pen, a piece of paper are the resource
To which I would have recourse.
In order to stamp a lasting fingerprint
By which my works would come into print.

A committment to hold up
At a time when there is no rising up;
But, it is easier said than done,
Especially when most people have impulsively run.

The Weird Life

Holding backward views
Neither an advancement did I accept,
Nor an attempt did I make;
Thus, I brought about no news;
Rarely did they mention my name.

Oh, How can they make such a decision
As long as I have another vision?
Ethereal were not my garments
Just in time I detect the reason.

With mistrust on the other side,
I have set out to find
Where the pitfall would reside.

Setting Foot in that Square

One autumn my half-brother leading me to school
There I would be a new pupil;
Wondering what all that was for,
Our lives, they say, are based on that core;
Immediately shuddering at my fellows,
For I had no idea who to follow.

Years elapsed and a mature student came
Then other responsibilities to assume;
Wearied of my remarkably little mettle,
I one day rose to rebel;
It was a power no one could ever tame.

In less than no year
My image begin to appear;
An unruly, unrivalled, stubborn man they challenge;
But, no victory yet came on their part;
It is with their surmises I dared to part.

Waiting with bated breath,
A thousand times I fought that threat;
Had it not been for my living,
Countless things would still be waving.

Oh, it is a resistance of mind;
Ineffable is the fire inside;
It is a will that can never be undermined.

As I Arrived Home

Looking back on my childhood,
For my deformity I have shed a tear;
As no one that instant showed any care;
I distinctly knew I was not served the right food,
And these are the memories I can longer bear.

Before long I by reading heard of some celebrity,
Who too complained of the same misfortune;
Long brooding over how she made that forune,
I was told that it was due to her constant alacrity.

Setting myself to that path,
Step by step I made for that night;
Between that phase and the ninth,
I woke to find the light.

Here started my journey as a budding writer;
Then my future has turned brighter
To the past I have turned a deaf ear.
Could those who fled from me come near?
So that I tell them I am no longer here.

Class Participation

Some poor teachers would think that participation is the prestigious criterion by which the level of students is assessed. The problem is not that participation is valueless but, rather it is the teacher is wrong when focusing more on oral tests rather than written ones. As I have experienced, some lazy students are chatty and talkative, but they get good marks, whereas those who are industrious do not get those good marks.

Here lies the crux of the matter. That is, there might be some students who are not accustomed to participation or are too timid to raise their hands. But, we should not neglect or underestimate their level of understanding or education in general. I would suggest that teachers should focus more on written ones, because if they do not, there would be another case similar to what occured to Thomas Edison when once told by his teachers that he is too stupid to learn anything.

To Continue the Trek

A haughty man I might have been
When no one previously dared to stand.
Shortly leading them by the hand,
I unawares missed the has-been
And here unexpectedly appointed by the sand.

Alas, my hopes are dashed, some might say,
For I never knew it was decreed in my fate.
But this is the deserved price one might pay;
Then I would become what I am at any rate.
This is what loyal friends of mine hate.

I shall always tell you this with great remorse
As in my room there is some force.
It is through which I still survive;
My story is but a specimen of other lives.

The trek is still a great dream
Down the Draa stream
There I for long stand holding that book.
Of which no one yet knows it is mine by hook or by crook;
In it I told but the plain truth.

I a mere passer-by;
My pupils I bade goodbye,
And the trek at last did continue .

The Secret of never Giving up Hope

I strongly believe that no one on this earth has lived without having gone through an ordeal or an excruciating experience at some point in his or her life. Some people might argue and say that they have never gone through such things, but they should bear in mind that they would sooner or later experience that. During my schooldays, I would admit that I went through different failures and some tragic moments. Yet, I never gave up hope until I realised my dream and will never give up again in the days or years to come.

In fact, I have no idea why some people, especially students who, once they encounter a difficulty, begin to complain and even think of dropping out of their studying and the like. They might excuse their misfortunes for saying that they have got a bad grade or that they will never become what they have always aspired to become simply because of this.

I could understand that the people in question do not simply believe in the often-quoted saying which goes, " It is never too late to become what you might have been," Here, one might become whatever they aspire to become no matter what circumstances are, what disabilities one has and how low one's grades are. I am completely certain about this, for I have believed in it and found out that it has led to so many fruitful results.

We all know that success and failure are integral parts of our lives, though the latter is a far more common one. By looking back on some celebrities in different domains, I have known that they too experienced failures, misfortune, and a sense of helplessness and hopelessness. But, what has really attracted a great attention in me is that every time I try to compare their misfortunes with ours, I always find that theirs is much more remarkable than ours. In other words, no way to compare!

So, how come those who went through much more devastating and hopeless experiences than ours managed to become celebrities late in their lives? And we who constantly complain about petty problems and so-called misfortunes have done nothing noteworthy so far. Here lies the secret of never giving up hope, and the following are the pre-eminent figures behind it.

Winston Churchill failed sixth grade and after that defeated in every election for public office.

Charles Darwin, who was considered by all his masters and his father to be a very ordinary boy below the common standard of intellect.

Thomas Edison was fired from his first jobs for being non-productive and too stupid.

Albert Enstein, who did not speak until he was 4 years old and did not read until he was 7.

Our Moroccan author Mohamed Choukri, who started learning to read and write at the age of 21.

Louis Pasteur ranked 15th out of 22 students in chemistry.

Emily Dickinson, who had only seven poems published during her life.

John Milton, my favourite poet, who wrote Paradise Lost while completely blind.

Charlie Chaplin whose pantomime was considered nonsense at the start of his acting.

Beethoven, who was described to be hopless as a composer, wrote five of his symphonies while completely deaf.

Leo Tolstoy dropped out of school at a very early age and was described as unable and unwilling to learn.

Helen Keller, an American author, political activist and lecturer was a deaf and blind person.

For nearly 20 years, Gertrude Stein submitted poems to editors and only one was at last accepted.

Walt Disney was fired by a newspaper editor simply because he was not imaginative enough to come up with good ideas.