Ποιειν Και Πραττειν - create and do

Najet Adouani


When I was child I heard about Palestine and Israel in our house during discussions my father was having with his friends. At that time I was only 8 years old and there was a war going on between Israel and Egypt with Jamel Abdenasser as the man who wanted to throw Jews in the sea. And my family was split between two opinions: war and peace! My mother who was a nationalist like Jamel Abdenasser defended his opinion of continuing the war against Israel..0n the other side, my father who was for peace. He likes Habib Bourguiba and believes in his wisdom when he invited Arab people and specifically Palestinians to accept peace and share the land with Jews and live in peace together, but the Arabs threw his suggestion away and threw tomatoes in his face. Between that time and this time many wars have happened and many more innocent ones have died. It shows that in reality it is not easy to defend peace. For leaders and generals of wars decide and realise their crimes against humanity. They are too far away from wisdom and love. We can’t stop the rivers of blood by speeches or by security councils; we have to face the reality and come back to those we are most concerned about. For it is the people who always pay the bills of war on both sides: Jews and Palestinians. And by this I mean the civil societies, I mean children and women..etc…We have to raise the voices of those innocent ones who want to live in peace. When I talk about Palestine and Israel, I want to give as well examples of many other crimes being committed and point to other countries where they continue to kill children as well. It seems as if all this killing is done in the interests of some politicians who are completely deprived of humanity and wisdom. As for myself, I will always support peace and despite the last Gazza Holocaust, I will never loose the wish for peace. I will never lay down my pen, since my most powerful weapon against the amatory of war and bombs.

A Child’s Scream

A long river of sadness crosses my terrified soul..

In his dark eyes a massive scream can be heard.

Homeless children explode, their tears scorching

over my wounds..

Their bare feet bleed, more pain is in my throat.

How can I cover the fragile roses

when the holocaust mouth devours my scream?

How can I invite them into my land

when thorny ways make me lose the way?

Nothing in my pocket of value:

only an obstinate pen

insists to bleed on my papers

till the last breath of ink turned red.

But nothing will really change.

My magic carpet

Cannot reach God’s bed

And awake him

To correct his mistakes

And close this hell.

I can’t believe now

That he is the most powerful one

who owns all the keys to paradise.

Can he stop evils from throwing

their burned stones

at his worshipers to burn their hans,

at the innocent people who recite all palms

while seeking his blessing?

Can he free them?

from evil's desires

who used this power to sit on a throne

of corpses and ruins.

Can the sterile one

who owes only slaves

awake in their blood a storm?

But no answer!…

Only me and a little hungry girl

who lends her thin hand to an empty sky!

A sad hymn tears at her ear when in a dirty camp

where at night all things are shaken up in the girl’s eyes

and which throws me off my carpet.

But something like a smile sparkles

between the little girl's lips:

-Thanks for your precious diamonds, dear God..

I need only a loaf of bread and a warm soup…She said.

And closed her irises

so as not to see me disappear in the light of exploding bombs.


after midnight

A flower pulls her mouth

off the morning face...

then again trembling in a pale moon eye...

Wrapped in the veil of her solitude

She expects the smile of sunrise

before life’s twilight travels

to the tune of birds chirping away

towards a spiritual world

where souls sing to an eternal aroma

that a day doesn’t die just over the lips of the sunset!

I remove the anguish which covers my mouth by yawning.

--Sleepiness comes in the dress of phantoms heated up by nightmare's fires.

--When does life depart from my blood?

When do my mornings leave the grave of darkness

Am I the woman who awaits such emptiness?



I wish I had wings

I only wish I had wings
Wings like those of the angels
that I can fly over seas and rivers,
Hills and deserts…
I ask my soul to borrow me her flames,
I need that only for a short while,
I want to walk in that glow for me.
I wish to have powerful wings,
Stronger than the wings of birds,
I need wings as vast as infinite space…
wings as vast as history.
Yes, I wish I had wings mae out of clay and fire,
purple and gold, silver and tin,
iron and diamonds,
such wings which are heavy and light.
I wish to had wings to suspend me over the universe
in which I can be everywhere a loaf of bread in the hand
Of a starved-infant…
A handkerchief wipes of tears from a bereaved child
A smile breaks night's fear,
A hymn of a lost Bedouin
Entertains a peace's caravan.



Her flute sprouts out of songs of spring

In her eyelashes gather clouds

which hide the coming of morning

Her sad hymn relieves bruises by wetting them

As for my sorrows at the top

I was pushed down

at this elegant evening

to loud laughter over an adorned woman

not dressed to suit our city.

In my sad pitcher I ferment tears

and spread smiles wrapped in grass by my patience

for the ones who bite each other's lips

The exhibitors of time's ugliness

in path's dust

ask if a green city is on the way to decay

once it turns off the violets

covering till now legs of girls and cats

and hunts birds

with wings as scissors.

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