mamounia garden 2 -

Morocco is magic – the land, the people, the flora and fauna. To make it more exotic it is a kingdom, with its shores along two seas, the Atlantic and the Mediterranean. In the south are the Atlas Mountains. There is a romance of history and culture surrounding its cities of Casablanca, Marrakech, Fez and Tangiers. The weather along the coast is always clement with an abundance of blooms everywhere. Two races populate the land, the Arabs and the Berbers, both extraordinary in looks and hospitality. Marrakech at the edge of the Sahara desert and the foot of the Atlas Mountains is an exotic town that takes you back in history. My poem was composed as the atmosphere of the place gripped, enthralled and mesmerized me:




This Moroccan haunting

From the midst of Mamounia’s

Mystic groves and tallest palms’

Proud ochre candelabras’ date,

Three note trill


Pierces my soul

At dawn,

Plaintive, persisting


Secret and alone

With me.


fountainIn the heart of every court,

Like risen lotus

Trademark fountains of bliss

Drip their watery ecstasy

Into shallow pools

Where the mosaic stirs

In shadow of ancient olives

And Jakaranda

And what holds it together,

Calls of a hidden dove –

Secret paradise

Locked from the crowds.


This quick music makes me sad

Though I do not follow its words

I almost know what it says

As I imagine the adolescent urge

Accurately, for it is about

The village lad who is going away,

Promising his mother he will soon be back

With a Green Card

But to his love, that she never

Loved him enough

To let go his hand,

Then I let go the words,

It doesn’t matter, as the drumming

And singing beat faster into me.


musicians-place-jemaa-el-fna-marrakech-bigTwo big beads on two strings

Attached to a dancer’s pointed cap

Whir, as he spins cockily

With a look to impress

At the Place El Fna

In the furious light of gas lamps.


How these Kilin carpets bewitch,

A Berber way of scribbling

Thoughts into squares

Of straight simple colours

You could never manage,

Like you cannot pronounce

Words without vowels,

Consonants joined together

Like they can (shno smitek)

And the patterns stay with you

Like something said permanently



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To capture one look from you

Fishing delinquently for eye contact, careful,

Pull the purse strings tight

Over your eyes,

There are pickpockets here,

Pull down your veil,

Hang on to your soul.


We took the road

Past Taroudannt

Where the majestic Atlas stood

Up a steep hill of Fir trees

Thickly brushing my thoughts

Like a sponge of Mouley Ibrahim

Absorbing their residue wastes,

Miracle duster cleansing the slate

And the wooden barrier

At the tomb

Allowing in only the faithful

Could not keep me out

As I sought his grace

And received a psalm

Wrapped in bright green cloth,

As a token

That he had heard.

Mouley Ibrahim Credit :

Mouley Ibrahim
Credit :