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Never had the desire to do shopping
Today I did have that damn desire
I went out,
Happy to spend my monthly payment on clothes
Money filling my pocket, pride filling my chest,
I went where all girls went to,
To buy clothes,
To follow fashion
I am an old-fashioned type of girl,
I thought, maybe it’s time, I follow the trend
Marwa, Ettam, Paradox, Stardevarius, Shana, Mongo....
one shop another,
Same clothes, same colors, the same, the same, the same
As if all girls are twins
Shorts, micro skirts, sleeve-less shirts,
some with a " Hug Me"
Some with a "keep calm and drink champagne"
Some with a "USA flag"
Some with a "U.K flag"
As if all girls were J-lo or B.S
They criticized Jessie J
Calma, Now we do have thousands of Jessie J with a Moroccan seal
I wonder when we gonna go out as we were born, NAKED?!
Money felt ashamed,
I felt ashamed; I am ashamed to be the girl wanted
A girl who follows the lead of fashion
Who made that fashion?
I better keep my old-fashioned style
Since I do wear jeans and large shirts
Since my body is mine, priceless to be shared with the public
Since my beauty is mine, nobody's worth it
I better keep that money I worked hard to earn
I better buy goods than sins
I better shut up and live indifferently
Cuz fashion is so mainstream.

one world, two places at the same time

That incident carried me miles and miles away.

On day before Al Aid, I always come to help my father the pressing shop. He asked me to put a blanket into the sink and soak it. Then he gave a wooden material in order not to wet my hands. It was a tall and big like a baseball stick. The sink is deep and whenever I had to pull the blanket back into the water, I had to bend and stand, bend and stand, bend and stand. I am a woman of a “primitive” African tribe. I am black. I have a cloth wrapped around my chest, another cloth wrapped my waist. My flesh and blood wrapped on a cloth around my back. I am wearing jewels: jewels made of iron, silver around my hands and neck. My hear is thick, curly, and set in the form of tresses. My feet are bare, and whitened by the dust. I am doing housework. I am crushing something on that wooden mortar and pestle; it is a couple, there is the container and the wooden stick; I am singing in my mother tongue. Maybe Swahili, maybe Zulu, maybe some unrecorded mother tongue. I am singing with the women of the tribe. All of us working with the same material, helping each other, each using its own pestle to help crushing the same plants on the same mortar. There is harmony in our moves. Some bend, some stand accordingly. Some stand, some stand in rhythm.......

Ex Mr. X

It’s strange how life goes on

Am now turning word into English

Yesterday Mr. x was alive, flesh and blood

Now he’s only some ink on some paper, some pics on some album,

some gifts, some memories, some regrets

I dunno what Mr X family would think of me as apprentice turning Mr. X into words

But Mr. X in no longer Mr. X

In fact Mr. X is an ex Mr. X

He’s a number on a grave

He’s just a name, birth and death

I dunno what Mr. x Family would do

Since the date of his death precedes the date of his birth

He died 3 days before his birthday,

Celebrate then mourn, no maybe mourn and then celebrate

I know, I know I have to do with none,

Am to turn that into words

But the fact just marked me, me who am still asleep

I had that in mind for so long

I am like Mr. X, wish to die on the day I was born

So as I entered, I would leave!

.

 A 63 year old paedophile who rapped 11 Moroccan childen, was released by Royal grace, so what?

Granpa!!!!
I know you are listening.
Since you departed,  you never visited me, why?
Please Granpa! I have so much to say to you!
I want to see that you are happy so I can carry on with my life.
Please Granpa, show up!
Please!