I held my pen and drowned in thoughts.
Should I write? Or should I not?
I beheld my pen, and I thought deep.
Should I write? Or should I sleep?

And I lay on my bed, with no motivation;
I was lost, so was my inspiration.
And in my dream, confused, I see:
An ethereal lady chanting to me.

Sing your story, and let us hear.
How can I? With all this fear.
Write your love and sing what you feel.
I can't write, unless my words are real.

And I recognized her as she came closer.
The passion I had and thought I lost forever.
And she held my hand and whispered short:
Write for my love, and sing it for my soul.

So I woke up and wrote all night,
And I saw my words dancing with delight.
I wrote and finished that story I adore;
And I lifted my pen, but it asked for more.

A peerless pearl shines
In the darkness of the night.
A homeless girl smiles,
Regardless of her pain and fright.

Lies in the street with dispair and empty gut;
Heavy tears falling from the sorrow she feels
And the dread of sleeping in the deep dark, but
Even a demon to her innocence kneels.

While others succumb to greed
And run after wealth,
The forlorn girl feels grief
Over her parent's death.

While foolish teenagers bleat
About money, clothes and cars;
She treads with her bare feet
And a body full of scars.

We care about nonsense
We even cry for romance,
While this little princess
Never had a chance to dance.

— Mahieddine Ouafi