A quick chat with a King


We all have that little ” Hasan, Luigi, Tom, Julien, Miguel, Hongqi …..etc” in our neighborhoods. I’m talking about that kid who occupies the corner you may stop by for a couple of seconds to tie your shoelaces during your daily outing. He would sit for hours trying all the marketing tips he’s learned over the time at ” the University of Seasons and Seasons on the ground ”  to sell you  chewing gums,a nail clipper, a keychain or just a pack of tissues that could give the vividest denotation of heat, cold, loneliness, war, peace and fear, that was and still the most willing accomplice when sinning and the most placating solace when bewailing. A pack of tissues that comprehends that none of the mentioned tips could make this long-awaited detachment from his “Roi ” as soon as begging would.

The king supplicated !!!!!

In a planet where a porn star has millions of fans on social media and tons of food are wasted rather than donated ……. A real king is likely to beg. Actually he’s good at it, he even considers it a life-skill which endures just like riding a bicycle or pitching a tent appropriately and as there was a need for a first time to gain this skill, I was wondering when was the King’s premiere and here was the answer.

I begged him once to have a bite

Of his sandwich

 I begged her mom so we hang out 

She was a bitch

I begged their sister for love the sacred 

I was mortified…. I developed hatred

He knew I was amazed by the way he speaks.

He knew I underestimated him.

He knew I thought he’s unlettered.. so he added.

I am the King and I’m lucky

The best poet is a friend

And he enlightened me

The victims of genius are clients

And they taught me

It’s by the painter and his beloved

I was worshiped 

And by the monk and his God 

I was venerated

It was a struggle, a hardship I should admit

A fight to which I was challenged

But with Neptune and Uranus 

I was blessed

As when a cop scolded

There was a hippie to cheer up

And when an ugly disgusted

There was a cute to joy me up

I didn’t say Adios as I went. The king is easy to find

I just winked, smiled, hand-slauted him and wished I could be a king for a while


ON SUFISM ————- feeling thankful

sufi festival calligraphy art 

OH ALLAH !!!!!











I’m loath to admit that I’m sorry for you dad. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the doctor or the judge you always pictured me. I won’t be able to send you the driver, to book you a suite. I myself go to hostels and will probably start couch surfing 🙂 . I’d say sorry to the girl who may one day decide to spend the rest of her life with me. I don’t think you’ll ever be in your own house, where you go water the flowers and plant a tree that you will repeatedly talk about to our grandchildren. Opposite, we’re likely to wake up with a pissed landlord knocking on the door cursing the day he rented out his/her property that won’t be large enough to run after you from a room to another……….. I’m just a teacher …. I know it’s hard for you to understand what’s really amazing in this position to make someone so proud that he wakes up everyday with a grin to meet’em sweet devils to teach them something to both give them a hard time and be driven bananas every once in awhile. Here’s what happened couple of minutes ago. I hope it will give a better explanation of why I would never plan to quit this job any soon.

I just got a message from a student that I’ve been teaching in the past. The guy got married and he recently had a baby that he called Khaled (my name). Here’s a humble translation of his message that would make the shittiest day of the unluckiest cabbie ever !!!!

Dear teacher,, I don’t know where you are now. You know I miss you so much and I love you like a big brother though you’re younger than me. I wished you could stay with us longer. Do you remember ********** telling you that we should find you a woman here so you marry her and live amidst us. Anyway I hope you are happy and successful. Last week I was so busy I couldn’t write to tell you that I became a father .. Yeaaaaah I have a son that I attached his photo to the mail. You know what ??? His name is Khaled. For couple of months I and my wife were debating on the name we would select. I’m not sure if I will be a good father but I wish he will be a great man like you. 

Teacher I love you soooo much 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 

***** In the part of the world where I am actually they would call a man who cries a naive. I’m happy and proud of being that idiot

— I once have wished —

I once have wished 

There was a planet 

where I plus you equals you


I once have wished 

That at night as in the morning 

the sun shone

So I can surf those wrinkles 

Slide along your lips 

Drift, bounce, fall and shift 

And proudly announce

I located beauty 

I once have wished 

I could chaperone you

So I voetsak

Out of the land of Right

And shoo the guilt away


I once have wished 

Death was a party 

And Azrael was a welcomed advena

So I recommend his comradeship 

So I smile as we parted

Mariem: The girl in the backseat

imageNineteen autumns ago, in a warm classroom, sitting in the first row next to my first love. I was lucky enough to be the son of a father with a fine job because back where I did my primary school, the “better” your dad’s position is, the closer to the teacher’s desk is your seat.

This wasn’t the case of Mariem whose dad was a plumber -a 7 years old girl, not as pretty as the one on my left but still likeable – who occupied one of the backseats of the classroom amid a bunch of unfortunate little scandalmongers who couldn’t accept someone decent, peaceful, shy, quiet and hard-working among them. Though that was too much on a sweet rug rat, she never complained. Between the classes and at lunchtime she would come to us to talk about what happened in the last episode of the cartoons we watched, swap cards and snacks, gossip about teachers and to crack jokes. She was very content with the swift breaks that were seen as a refuge from a less innocent world, moments of recreation and refreshment that never ceased to supply her with a strength and an endurance she was crying out for to finish the day with a hope that in the next morning, she will enjoy gawking through the door at the gardener ankle-deep in mud planting what it may be a “palmier” these days. Whenever Ms. Qasi looked at her and that was unusual, Mariem raised her eager hand to answer a question or nodded to show that she did understand but none of those tricks managed to attract the “teacher’s” attention nor to lift her from the bottom of the class.

Until one day, a woman from the ministry of education visited our school to take the list of the students whose parents work abroad. As she knocked the door, interrupting Ms. Crap’s nap we all stood up not willing to greet her on her entrance as much as afraid of being sent to the last row and this is why those who sit in the front are mostly the ones who “erect” first.

– ” DEAR” students ! Would you please raise your hands if you have a father/ mother or both working abroad. Ms. sweet-toned Crap, goggling at the pupils in the dark part of the class.

– What’s your name ? The beautiful lady in the blue suit.

– Mariem… and she added her surname.

– Thank you sweetie, your teacher will tell you what to do. Looking back at Ms. Qasi she whispered: I have to move to the next class, would you please give her this form that has to be filled out by her mom before Friday….Have a good day !

– With pleasure ! Bye

A moment later, the bell rang and we all went out except Mariem as “Teacher” Qasi had to show her how to fill in the form. Something that didn’t last more than a minute.

With other students from different classes we followed Ms. Qasi as she headed for the headmaster’s office pulling up Mariem’s wrist too hard and mumbling along the courtyard. We saw the fear in her eyes and even those who gave her a hard time pitied her. The throng faded as soon as he opened the door, with dozens of questions in our minds.

For the rest of the year Mariem’s place remained empty as she moved to another class. I remember her hiding behind the school’s main gate eating her sandwich avoiding some bully fifth graders who called her “liar”.

Though,we had been warned not to talk or play with her, we knew later that she lied about her dad’s job just to get closer to the blackboard and that she complained about Ms. Qasi’s discrimination.

P.S: I’ve recently heard that an old guy divorced her after being caught red-handed with a paramour in the backseat of his car.