Against layers of western pop and soulful jazz,
I find myself yearning for the sound
of traditional music
These ears know well
the tune that reminds them of home.

My blood dances
to the thumping of the tabla,
the melodious clash of castanets
and plucking of strings on leathered guitars.

Traditional music is the voice
of my silenced ancestors;
and the treasure that is the legacy
they have left behind for us.

Each night I will remind myself
of the beauty of Algeria
and the sound that vibrates its fertile soil
and resonates in my heart.

Reaching out to hold the hands
of those who came before me;
we stand united by the melody
of our anthem.

Empty room
with loud thoughts
drying like paint
on its silent walls.

All these shades of colours have brought vibrance into my existence
Painting each day with their unique aesthetics
I think you affect me in the same way.

You burden her with troubles
that you cannot handle by yourself
then wonder why she breaks and snaps
like twigs in busy forests
that can't seem to stay whole.

But who cares if the words you write
can't be properly articulated by others?

Your thoughts weren't meant to be recycled
and simplified through someone's criticism
Your work can't be measured that simply
if at all
because its worth is limitless
it will remain immortal
for if you die, your words will not wither away like you

They'll grow out of you like flowers
and the ink from your pen has its unique flow
circles and straight lines
scribbles and doodles
whatever path your thoughts lead you to
it's the right one

I like music and catchy tunes
but the song that is your voice
is my favourite one yet.