Best Tunisia Poems
I want to word my very Love for you
though as a shy child, I start to stammer
a beloved Mother, my sole bijou
as I am of your prime Land enamoured.
A rose breathing the scent of your terra
born and bred knowing no other home soil
how can I bear the burn of your Summer
anger and worry within my chest boil.
I want to paint my very pride in you
with drops of my blood and ivory star
then draw your nature and beauty anew
how would my poetry meet who you are?
To my dear mother, shall I, You compare?
TUNISIA, Your Love, I'll ever bear.
Mother
The best of all my words
I love calling you
Past were those so many years
when the petals of my heart would blossom
as your voice, the sweetest of music would flow
the youth of my soul would cease to grow.
Gone were those so sweet times
when you, mother, in my world would reign
as your Love wouldn’t cease to rain
and the thirst of my soul wouldn’t remain.
Mother
The finest of all my words
I love calling you
I once confided into my words a promise
I would conceal your warmth in my very abyss
I would ever keep your candlelight aglow
and have my bereaved heart lay down its woe
the grief of my soul, I’ll keep my word
and into oblivion, I’ll try to throw.
In vain, I tell you mother
the pain of your loss in my heart couldn’t wane
my words on your blessings are overflowing and plain
the bond we shared is running in my vein
the love I had from you, burning to regain.
Mother
The sweetest of all my words
I love calling you.
May 26th, 2019
Happy Mother’s Day to all the precious mothers in the world
Celebrated on the last Sunday of May, in Tunisia
What would be of me
if you could be with me
How would be my present days
if ever you were spared other few days
I open wide my heart so as you I can see
and stand in awe of the woman I would see!
I will not weep or tend to lament
just swallow every moan and each lament
I knelt to the grace of God’s Hands
for the blessing to kiss my mother’s hands
I prayed for a time to once again see you
graced with your presence and a kiss from you
The woman I see as I close my eyes
that’s you, mum, the apple of my eyes
I do remember now my promise and vow
in my words I’d honour your Beauty I avow
Precious praiseworthy parent, my very pride
a sweet scented Rose, a lofty tree in your pride
Envy could not sow its seeds into my heart
as your passionate Love would immune my heart
Here I am on a special day that honours every dear mum
what I feel no words could bear as you are not here, mum..
Besma
Written on March 3rd, 2021
Edited on May 29th, 2021
Mother’s Day on May 30th, 2021 (In Tunisia, celebrated on the last Sunday of May)
Happy Mother’s Day to all the amazing mums in the whole world!
Erato
Out of an ethereal mist her form –
round, soft edges shimmering, a milky
apparition, like the full moon on a foggy
July night. Myrtle and roses came first
in the aroma that took him to the shores
of Tunisia and a Mediterranean breeze –
his mind wandered until she came full into view
and then his focus was secure…her beauty
filled every available space and he was captivated,
captured by love’s rich palette. He recognized her
not from a daydream nor a fantasy but his Big Dream.
“You…we have known before the slippery
rocks and the gypsy dance…stars over Mont Royal.”
With one look and a flash of lightning she charmed
his sight; he should have known he was doomed
to make the pilgrimage to Samos and the tomb.
She came to fill his head with poetry, rivers
of words to fill his verses and charge them
with emotions. Instead she filled his heart
with a drunkard’s love, a spring wine
with a delicate bouquet…morning weighs heavy.
“Let me open the gate and chase the noisy
dogs away, my riches lie within the garden.”
The shaper of words then took her guitar and sang
sweet melodies like kisses and he was the Best Man
far too drunk to resist her passions. He partook
in the creation of music divine amid the cries
of idolatry but he was deaf to the discord.
With every song they sang he fell deeper
into her graces and his destiny was sealed;
he traded his heart to be skilled in the art
of making love with words, a noble task.
Whenever his vision appeared
he sensed infinity within his grasp.
So, could this awakening be
the pebble whose ripples rock the sea?
The seeker, who had found his treasure,
was now swimming in fatal hope.
I am jealous of White Feather to have kissed
the artful lips of Erato and survived.
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A pursuer at an precocious age,
Instantly able to set the stage.
Unaware of the glare from a piercing stare,
Calculated thoughts and moments planned; the prey would be snared.
Indulging in oratory flights of beautiful language,
Enticed by a venomous tongue the prey languished.
Striking the first note of genuine eloquence,
The Huntress pillaged without rendering an element of forbearance.
The impending execution of the venom ignited an explosion,
That there was an instant expulsion.
From the impending death,
The prey took a long deep breath.
The craving of the Huntress had grown,
The prey subsided with a shuddering moan.
Towered by the Huntress’s shadowing eclipse,
Impetuous feeling the softness of her kiss.
@ Tunisia Torres
2/3/2009
When I look at the Nile or Niger
My heart overflows with joy for such a wonder
As currents daringly flow on each iconic river
Every fountain has wealth embedded in its waters
Each mountain, sealed by the richness of history
This is the reason I recognize a path
A path filled with promises
Promises to make Africa great
In fact, Africa is already great
What a marvellous sight to behold!
Imagine a variety of wildlife in Togo
Comforting sounds of birds across Comoros
Outstanding presence of gazelles in Cameroon
Supernatural nests of swallows from epic Chad
Historical archives found in artistic Mali
Fashion trending all the way from Malawi
Magical flavour of Sea Cuisine from sanctified Senegal
Amazing pyramids in the gifted land of Sudan
Breath-taking desert all over Sahara
Beautiful girls dancing malembe in the colourful Sibasa
Bubbly boys playing in the busy streets of Kinshasa
Men brewing special coffee near corners of Mombasa
Women beading around some parts of Luanda
Elders sharing stories in the hearty homes of Rwanda
Lovely smiles from the stunning faces of Eritrea
Heartfelt love from the people of Liberia
Eternal Spirit of Ubuntu in Tanzania
Eye-catching mosaics around Tunisia
Vibrant Traces of Culture in Namibia
Incredible wisdom in The Gambia
Sweet melodies from Ghana
Sacred Forests in Uganda
Serene Oceans of Madagascar
Super Eagles soaring higher in Abuja
Special works of art from Addis Ababa
So many diamonds around Botswana
Abundant copper from magnificent Zambia
Hidden Treasures in Zimbabwe
This is no ordinary continent
But a place of contentment
Everyone who comes here
Is welcome at a first glance
By the greatness of Africa!
FROM MY ROOF TOP
From my roof top I see the world crumbles
I saw people of mine shout, endlessly
They shout for two common things
They shout for these two alone
Prosperity and democracy
They want an answer and their voices heard
But they were denied, all
An tears run down my cheek for them.
All these while two things are denied them
Just through the face masks of poli-sticks
So the country goes gaga
My country crumbles and crumbles fast
Faster than its expiry date comes
Two things are denied it as a cause
The suddenly, A man came panting
The power-man has come to shut us up.
He wears a coat too big yet very tight
To strangle our wriggling voices
'Go home, go home' I heard him shout
But he only rained saliva and a chewy gum
As I laugh, the riot explodes
Police, police, gendarme
Then blows and bloods
Bullets and batons.
Empty fists and stifled voices
There was a heightened battle to crumble a regime
So Mr. President answer me
Why poverty is now riding the economic horse
You alone jolly riding everywhere
For these decades you planted none, a seed
Your monarchy has divorced our democracy
Therefore go home, go home, too.
Yesterday your eyes were like those of an Angel
And you gaze upon us with mercy, passion, we all
Now your eyes beams of the Sun, Satan
Jesus! dear creator's messenger
Beg on our behalf, do it now
We plead your father, our grand, comes early to our rescue
To warn the world, of its bad nuts
Before it stands out against them.
We have started our calls, our shouts, our protests
From Tunisia to Egypt
Yemen to Syria
Brunei to Georgia
Here we come, to demand our pound of flesh
That, that has been taken from our toils
This day, not waiting, straight for it, now
From where they are, hidden.
The roof tops of powers
As I watch them from my roof top here.....
The Blood of Martyrs
“He stood aloof the ***** youth
What of his future?”
Peter Abrahams
When the guns thunder
In Cameroon or Côte-d’Ivoire
In Mali or Burkina Faso
Limitless martyrs
Disappear!
Beads of blood still pearling
Running from the martyrs’ hot bodies
I vainly ask to know:
Why are the ill-stricken dictators so greedy
And their peoples so eloquently silent?
Gabon- Togo-Cameroon- Tunisia- Egypt-
Zimbabwe-Burkina Faso
What is going on?
What of our time? What of man?
Nothing but words.
Words of those who see with
Somebody’s eye
Or
Those who have gained
Nothing of their heritage
If not Samory’s puzzle.
Meanwhile
The spring keeps growing
Swallowing creeds to bear greeds
In spite of Ebola and the wars
In spite of Aids killing thousands of people
In spite of the minority who with the help
Of the majority eat from the fruit
Of the majority’s vote
In spite of growing desert….
N’Gaoundéré, 16th February 2010
From Tripoli to Cairo
I saw the intifada leftover
After Tunisia and Yemen
Like a dam broken
After it had sucked life from dry sand
Morocco, Kuwait, Djibouti and Oman
I heard birds singing at the cliff
Falsetto dawn
In the rift valley of religion
And water pouring from each sweat
Flood the root of the poisoned tree
Not Regina
Not Phoenix dactylifera
Not if the honey killed the bee.
Some have fallen
Shaken by the protest of the wind
Some stay uneasy
For it is the season of orchestrated discontent
I see nothing to applause
Except that stability
And the availability of corn
Are rare in democracy there.
For culture is soil and climate
That every root begins with
And nothing strange may grow
In a rich soil's barren love.
Heroes there and villains
Have ridden sand forever
They do no swim this mediation well
Spring rain brings flash floods
And then vulture upon vulture
Circling the corner of the eye.
Too bad the spring
Shook the blossoms off in breeze
I smell the empty branches
The resin bleeding in the new night
Hot summer's dead piled up
Against a Syrian wall.
I pray for the autumn worm
And the bones winter white
My sajada is Mecca strewn
And in my head the adhaan
The adhaan, an intoxicated bell
Calls me out of grief.
for George
"You always said you had little invisible friends,"
He wrote in a Christmas card one year, and Yes,
funny he would remember that. I called them Shovel,
Hoe, and BicaBacaBoca, all of indeterminate gender,
like Arial in "A Midsummer Night's Dream," beautiful
like that, and mysterious. Like the Bard, I now
consign them to the page. Reborn again.
My Navy hero, he sent us letters in brown V-
Mail folders, wartime paper and postage efficient,
and in one for our pianist stepmom, the lyrics
and music to "Lili Marlene." As for pin-ups,
he never owned up to Betty Grable's fabled legs,
her teasing over-the-shoulder glance, aimed toward
GI's everywhere, though there was the obligatory
tattoo he could never erase after sailor days, bluing
like Popeye's down the inside of his right arm.
Pacific time brought reward, some misfortune:
a bout with tuberculosis in Bizarte, Tunisia:
a year of recovery in a Naval hospital at home,
painting by the numbers, waiting out the time.
But, there was a hero's commendation from his
commanding officer for "aid in evacuation
of the wounded, and bringing the vessel into
port after torpedoing."
The ship, LST-3, earned two battle stars
for World War II service. Decommissioned
and struck from the Naval Register, it was sold
for scrapping, 10 September, 1947 - the year
I graduated from high school.
He was not sold for scrap metal, nor sustained
any. He came home to his sweetheart, and his kid
sister -- you know the one. That's her in a middle
row of the Ritz movie house, the one crying
while "Anchors Aweigh" plays after the War Bonds
trailer to the image of a warship, plunging
valiantly on a faraway sea
The Flame Burnt Hot.
The air was thin, standing looking out of the small window
Flying to Tunisia through a cloud level that was low
Stretching my legs and peering down the fuselage
From the flight deck, appeared the man who was definitely in charge.
His dark good looks struck me, they hit me like a blow
He came and stood in front of me and then he said “Hello.”
Dark limpid brown eyes, dressed in a uniform so smart
If we had been there longer, he may have stolen my beating heart.
Holding in his hand, a bar of dark chocolate
Broke a piece off it, and asked me if I’d like to partake.
Not being a fan of chocolate, but I am a fan of a uniform so grand
I let him feed it to me out of his large, strong, tanned hand.
The flame was burning bright as we looked deep into each others eyes
When my husband tapped him on the shoulder much to our surprise
The pilot turned and offered him a piece of chocolate too
I think you may guess the answer, and what he told him then to do.
The flame that burned oh so hot, was snuffed in just a second
A warning to all those girls, for whom a uniform may beckon
When a tall dark pilot offers to feed you from his hand
Make sure there’s no one around round so that flame can then be fanned…
© 27/11/2012~GG~
Based very loosely on a true story lol
When asked to portray my homeland
I honestly did hesitate
What to pen?
What to put in red and white?!
Tunisia, my Home Land
A gem of beauty in Africa continent
A mermaid bathing in the Mediterranean Sea
Could this me suffice?
To accord a tribute to my Mother Land?!
Never before had I a glimpse of thought
To envision my very stand
Let alone to fathom my Love!
A Home of birth
My purest breeze I breathed in
When I first set a voice of joy on her earth
A mother of warm shade
Rooted in her fertile soil
Growing in a haven of peace, a land of generosity.
A country of pride
Striving for the top
Her cultural heritage a crowning glory
Long as I live, her Flag I raise above my head
Tunisia, my Home Land.
May 8th, 2018
If I were a rich girl with money no object,
I’d take my family on an adventure, they'd never forget.
Safari in Africa, with lion’s, tigers and elephants,
Enjoy real African sunsets, that put you in a trance.
The Atlantic we’d cross, pacific and Indian too,
Mountains we’d climb, Himalaya, Everest and Kilimanjaro.
Morocco, Tunisia, Jaipur and Egypt,
Camels to ride in these sandy deserts.
If trains could travel under the water,
We’d train-sail to Brazil just to watch the soccer.
If buses had wings we’d fly to Mexico,
Just to buy a poncho and a yellow sombrero
Winter in Switzerland is best for skiing,
Lessons to take before embarrassing the kids.
To Florida in America we’d depart,
Miami beach, Disney Land or just check out the stars.
These dreams I have for my family are true,
It’s okay to have dreams than be miserable and blue.
Maybe one day, just one day, God will look my way,
To fulfill these promises I dare to make
"Ebony Embers of Wallowing Ash"
flames of fire fuel black smoke
walls tumble to ground like dark cloak
Egypt burns in savage rebellion
as human life perishes in ashen soak.
tears of sadness pray ... ask Why?
happy existence ceases, to die,
Libya riots in chaotic state
peace perishes in immortal sigh.
each night erupts in tragedy
the black hole deepens in catastrophe
Yemen yells a chant of war and death
blood surges from guns and gadgetry.
pain and suffering appease fierce foe
disgracing flag of freedom flow
Tunisia embraces in solidarity
blackhearts dominate love's glow.
democracy is erased from view
with countries rationale' askew
familiarity breeds contempt for good
impending doom eradicates coup.
religious rites obscure clear vision
a ploy to wage war with precision
root core remains a mystery
ebony embers wallow, who holds the right decision?
*For Craig Colson's Night - Dark - Black --Happy-Sad Contest...
*Sept. 13, 2012
Never will the soul kneel to despair
Because ease by God's will is coming
And with it joy and laughter.
Chokri Omri
(Tunisia, 02/02/2023)