Gallerie vente achat

28/09/2024

The echo of my thundering throat and the whispers of the devil
Abdel Latif Brada
When we touch on things we do not know the secret of what they are in the first place
Isn't it the case of the mind and the mind is as deep as the sea
The mind is much deeper than a person drowning in ignorance can imagine
Allow me if I touch on this mystery today
And whoever knows the essence of the secret should hold his breath
He should not reveal the secret to the general public
We should not talk about anything except in the presence of the mind that is familiar with the secrets of the universe
O inspiring one, you, you shy one who steals the hearing
O inflamed one, you, my happiness, my gypsy witch
The ignorant shadow is coming, so let us part ways and keep the secret
Here is the dismounted stupidity that has arrived, so let us part ways
These charlatans who think that turning their backs is an objection to my violent thoughts
They turn their backs when I speak
So why bother with actions The Dwarf People

They feel nothing of what I feel

Nothing in them tempts me and I am not bothered by anything

Neither their reluctance to talk to me nor their convincing arrogance

Their abandonment of me is hypocrisy and their foolishness does not worry me

They insist on their convictions, which are fleeting illusions

So how can I be comfortable with their words?
It's all just a pack of lies

And when I believe a word even if its echo continues to haunt me

Here I am, with all my strength, expelling the echo of their sayings

I compare it to the whispers of Satan

Words that continue to stick to my mind even after I push them away

I am not one of those who move forward while looking back with his eyes, so he steps with a crooked neck

I do not like those who eavesdrop from behind walls

Nor those who slip words like the hissing of a snake behind my back and in my absence

The flatterer pretends with certainty that he is only doing a response to what was offered to him in advance

But in reality he covets more giving

It may be all honeyed words, but a deadly poison has been slipped into them

It is better for such people to disappear from my path

Some of them do not deserve pity, but rather all contempt

Some of them are skilled in the role, and most of them are bad actors

The worst kind of hypocrisy I have found among these rabble
The charlatans pretend to have virtues of which they possess only shadows
I am a lover and you are a lover We all love
This is how the hypocritical supplication of the virtuous is the charlatans
Woe, woe when the honest man does not leave them to their lies
Life is in no need of them and all I want to say to them is leave me and my isolation
Leave me and my pains and wounds I am capable of them
Let the sun shine on me
Save me from the shadow of your heavy cloud
Let chance come and remove your depressed faces away from me
I want to deliver my message and no one will take over my hearing
To whom shall I speak if the echo changes the tones of my voice
These are deaf and dumb who do not understand
And if the walls have ears that hear, their ears have become deaf to them and no longer listen except to the echo of sayings
This is because the talk of wisdom goes with the wind, but the talk of amusement and gossip and all that I weave from the triviality of the minds has become worth the weight of gold to them
I must so that my words have an impact Your ears may not match the roar of waterfalls
Or may it have the sound of drums and flutes
I truly foretell the day when you may find my words chasing you wherever you go
May return to the original as they were after being emptied of all meaning
Should my words be from the lava of volcanoes so that they may have an impact on your heedless consciences
Or do you want my letters from fire and hell so that they may knock on your deaf ears
So how can I speak to heedless consciences
And who are the charlatans? Aren't they those who feign love while they are nothing but
So how can these ghosts love while their hearts boil with hatred and malice
Who are the charlatans? Aren't they those who sway your ears with the sound of affection while in their hearts a fire from hell permeates
Those who want to have a reward even if they invite you to their dinner table one evening by chance
For the slightest thing they do, even if it is just peace, they want Reward and Recompense
They do nothing, otherwise they expect double what they have given
They wish, as a reward for their work, to take from you the right to life and the right to death
I find fault with someone doing good while he expects the sky to give him a gift in return
And to expect immortality in return for life on earth
I find fault with someone who fills the world with vanity and sets himself up as his own god just because he eats until he is full and sleeps on a comfortable bed
He walks tall like a peacock just because he spends enough money for more than one day
He wants to be the world’s show for himself and then he expects life on earth to be the limit of the universe
Nothing before and nothing after
This is how he wants to do whatever he wants without accountability
I know now why you are angry and why you are angry with me now
That is because I know what you desire
You claim that there is no one to hold you accountable and no punishment so that your consciences may be at ease
And what if I reveal to you the truth that may silence your tongues
I know for sure that virtue has a reward in itself and a punishment in the depths of vice
Oh What saddens me is that I find those who claim to know the absolute truth
They plant an earthquake of doubt deep in the mind
They claim that reward and punishment are just a myth
This is your reality, you who are freed from the shackles of reason. You want to drag all the sheep behind you
And what if I told you that my words were not written for you
You are too dirty to be perfumed with the scent of these words
What is your belief? Isn’t it all revenge and punishment, then retribution and vengeance
You love your virtue with great love, and what is virtue to you?
It is just a play to attract the largest number of sheep
As if we were destined to live as half-humans without mind or conscience?

29/08/2024

oser dire
j perdu confiance en tout , une fois je me suis retourne et jai surpris mon ombre en train de me poignarder

29/08/2024

29/08/2024

Nobody wants to read anything at all

Who cares about books?
Abdellatif Berrada
Books are nothing but talk and a waste of time
They are all made like this out of thin air
I have always tried to argue that the writer is nothing but a wizard
He opens his mouth and vomits everything he has that he has not digested
A poet comes and speaks without asking permission
He should have checked with the censorship before he started
As for the poor readers, they are all burdened with resentment
It becomes clear that imagination has become floundering in the mud
They cook rhymes from love and the singing of the nightingales of these madmen
He goes on twisted and mute, unable to scream or speak
And we boast again about renewing speech
The words mix and the scream stands in the throat
It settles like a monument of blame in the throat

17/08/2024

19/06/2024

The day my muse spoke to me about my country?
Abdellatif Berrada

It's dusk when I find myself meditating alone
She will come and caress my cheeks with her refined nails
The night then enters my universe with mystery
I feel the stars so close wrapping around the ground sticking to my steps
I see blue trees, deserted streets, a land of sand stretching endlessly before my eyes
Then I remember; I had a homeland then I lost it, I had a country and I left it and when I returned it was no longer the same
Alas! I was no longer anything but a stranger in a land that had become foreign to me
O night, we have ended up in a world that piles up, deconstructs or dies
In the city, gardens are decimated
On books the seal of censorship is affixed
Which country did you come to? This is how my muse called out to me this night
Here, you will push a door that will creak and soon close on itself
But today you are stronger, so say your words, say them to me without fear please
Speak tell the truth, fear nothing, you are protected and you know it by your angels
Oh ! Here is Gabriel the Magnificent who watches over you
Speak because I fear your silence more than your words
This evening the sky became vertical and my head bent over my writings
Far from the noise of the world, I embrace the night
In one go I must fill this sheaf of white sheets
To catch the light I will pick a few stars that seem so ripe to me
And I tell myself it’s here that I can finally meditate in freedom
With a nimble and agile step I cross the confines of the ages
It is in vain that I will try to rest
In my room drowned in a black space the anxiety rises the day before
An idea torments me then someone enters, a silhouette slips embroiders a lying dawn around me
This muttering risks reviving fear in me
And from my window shaded by a strange dream, enter my muse and it is from there that my verses fly
What exile has come to inhabit my homeland, this one has broken down the door of my thought
The imagination opens like a wound between the thighs of a virgin land
A war passes and my ink incrustations its pen on the tables of destiny
All this is accomplished in the blink of an eye. Is all this in vain?
However, there remains a way out that offers itself to us like a sigh on the edge of the abyss
Then suddenly in my unfinished poem, a line arises, asking: What if one day we will know what the Arabs want?
What state will they be in tomorrow; if they do not free themselves from their aberrations?
who pushes them to go a little further each day with a determined step towards the abyss that awaits them?
Since my childhood, haven’t I tried to read the history of peoples?
I also try to understand what is happening in these distant lands
To see what is happening among these people, sometimes submissive, sometimes angry
The more I understand, the more I risk losing my mind
So when in the evening the sun tilts
That the room seems to me without shutters; I only have poetry as my companion
The wind enters my room and the muse reveals to me a little of its mysteries and its charms
the shape seems to stand out from a dark mirror
his strange face and his body sticks against the side of the wall
The moon was soft in her hands and I welcomed her with her radiant sun
and she began, without warning me, to tell me the history of my great homeland
Her chest presents itself to my gaze like a pearl necklace where two apples are strung
She also offers me the pen so that I can transcribe in silence the cry of my doubts and my anger
This poem is the crown of my collection, which was dictated to me, when it came to me surreptitiously in the evening
When I saw his face the doubt dissolved, everything became blurry
I saw, I saw it....my kingdom a true paradise
I went up with her, relaxing in a corner the angels were having their tea
The angels surprised by my presence looked at me in silence
Among them, faces recognize me and question me
Say ! poet, have you heard this silence, is it our word?
How should I respond since I barely understood what the wind was revealing to me?
Amazed I stand in the void then I asked them to grant my wishes
wash me without knowing the deep nights of my doubts and my suspicions
I also said: teach me to get drunk wave after wave of the stormy sea of ​​my despair
To wander like a lost star in the warmth of the horizon
Where are we going like this, O Prophets? People are asleep
The angel buried his face under an opaque veil and revealed to me what they had kept in secret for a long time.
The revelation was gloomy and I saw the universe cry its regrets
Then my muse smothered me in her arms and gave me the murmurs of her jerky words of which I made the diadem of my poems

14/06/2024

What do the Arabs want?
Fragment 1
Abdellatif Berrada
I have traveled so many paths and visited so many countries
To unravel some knots of the mystery that haunted me; I questioned myself
Didn't I wander to escape the haunting and the curse
With my step I slipped like a ripe apple on the paths of destiny
I wandered for a long time to return to where I left
Hesitating between yes and no, I chose exile

I have known peoples and thus learned not to discriminate between races and creeds.
But it is in vain that I try to understand the people of the region
I wandered everywhere but saw few men ready to take up the challenge
For years I've been observing the scene, I've been trying and I only partially understand what they're doing.
What's happening to them is so strange
I've seen all kinds of wars, but they were mostly just ephemeral maneuvers
There were armies...and men...wars and kingdoms
In fact, there is everything; but deep down there is nothing
Oh my dear homeland, they made your story into a soap opera full of horror and atrocities
We follow the episodes and each time they make us see the drama from a different angle
Would we one day see the raw truth of this episode of this story that never ends?
What if for once they allowed us to see what's going on behind the scenes?
Among these leaders there are nothing more than puppets
We ask them in advance what to do and they do it
The one who pulls the strings pretends to be a benefactor
Me, after years, I try in vain to understand what is happening behind the scenes
I saw people once lions alas! Tamed by fear and the tyranny of power
They have been condemned to a cycle of endless wars and are plunged into it without ever being able to escape.
And to lull us, our historians chew and repeat the same old story
It is to seduce our naivety that they retouch it with eloquence
Those who claim to be scholars have learned everything, yet without assimilating anything

05/06/2024

Dreams of a forgotten city girl
Abdul Latif Barrada

Oh, our ears are tired of the barrage of bullets
Deafening shots
Bullets fired into the air
Bullets miss or hit whoever they want to the core
The price of each bullet pays the expenses of a day or a breath for a hungry stomach
Our eyes are tired of the disasters that haunt us
Everywhere and at all times, calamities follow our footsteps
Please help us
Enough is enough
Our hearts need another side of joyful life
This is what the grieving girl said
With innocent words that brought tears to my eyes
Then she stood far away there and began wiping away the tears there in a corner of the gloomy neighborhood
There, the body of her parents was buried under the rubble
There is where the pink dreams are buried
Her innocent eyes still look forward towards the blue horizon
Her innocent eyes went out from the intensity of crying and no longer shine
Sometimes you look at the ruins and the effects of what remains of a past hidden behind sorrows
Sometimes she turns to me, perhaps I will find an answer to the dilemma
I have never seen anything more true than sad tears telling a story without words
The girl sitting there was in a place devoid of signs of age
Thus, once upon a time, the city turned into dust and rubble
Everything turned into nothingness
The girl looks into the distance and knows that the beautiful life is buried in the rubble
They were six children, says the sad girl
Six of them did not remain alive except her
This is how she narrates an ugly life with her pain
She sheds tears while dreaming of peace
There in the far corner, dreaming of happiness and harmony far from the remains of debris
Hope that there will be a day when healing will come after all the misery
Loved ones have died, and some death is a mercy
Some wounds bring healing that refuses to be lost
I say maybe one day healing and peace will come together in an embrace
They may come together in harmony and harmony
One day, the forgotten city girl had her lost dream come true
A girl who got lost on the road asked me about the address
How can I guide her when the whole city is rubble?
You ask about the house, and the house contains ruins of dust and some stones
You ask me, so I ask myself and shed tears because I know nothing about what the lost girl is asking in the paths of the forgotten city
But tears were flowing from her eyes abundantly, unlike my own
Its tears are completely transparent, like crystal glass, and do not carry dust, dirt, or debris
As for my tears, despite all the pain, they were bright like the noon sun, expressing compassion and tenderness
You ask me and I hold my breath
The answer may come or not
Perhaps rain will come from where it comes as healing
Or perhaps one day relief will come and all misery will be lifted from us
May joy come suddenly in Gaza after all the trouble
It removes the trace of grievance from us and sadness from sad eyes
Oh Lord, is there anyone but You who can heal our sick hearts?
Oh, my Lord, perhaps there is someone who will guide our lost steps, a bit of hope that instills reassurance in difficult days.
Perhaps one day my lost steps might pull me to a joyful place
To a city where childhood melodies can be enjoyed
Oh, our ears are tired of the barrage of bullets
Deafening shots
Bullets echo like thunder in the air
Bullets that hit or do not hit create fear or something that takes away peace, causing fear to dissolve within us to the point of boredom
We have been satisfied with what we have suffered, and our hearts have drunk cups that taste bitter and stagnant
The effects of wars remain as they are and will not disappear
Pain is like deep holes lingering inside the darkness of a sterile wound that will never heal
Who among us has not witnessed the panic of the people as it moved from place to place
Who among us has not heard the earth roaring and throats screaming from intense pain?
Dak, who does not shed tears abundantly, has a heart of stone
Our eyes are tired of seeing hearts torn apart by the intensity of panic
See how violent bombs shook a land that was at peace
They are like earthquakes that cause panic in people
These are terrible disasters that died in the city
Please don't worry
Maybe one day rain will come from where we don't know
Maybe someone will guide our lost steps
Merciful hands take us to a joyful place
To a city where childhood melodies can be enjoyed

31/05/2024

voila c tout j tout raconte