I am Mohamed Failali. I was born on 23/11/1969. I live in Martil, Province of Tetuan, north of Morocco. I work hard for my living. But I have a hobby: I write. I left university in 1993, unable to continue my studies for so many reasons. Since then I have learnt English and Spanish. I began writing in 1987 to forget about the Stone Age classes I was receiving. Now I write poetry, stories, novels and screenplays in Arabic, English, French and Spanish.

1. Life is a game with strict rules to abide by!

2. I am Mohamed Failali. I was born on 23/11/1969.
I live in Martil, Province of Tetuan, north of
Morocco. I work hard for my living. But I have a
hobby: I write. I left university in 1993, unable to
continue my studies for so many reasons. Since then
I have learnt English and Spanish. I began writing in
1987 to forget about the Stone Age classes I was
receiving. Now I write poetry, stories, novels and
screenplays in Arabic, English, French and Spanish.
When my daughter was born, I decided to publish
my first book ‘An Unexpected Intruder’ in 2009, a
novel in Spanish, my first foreign language, which
I learnt by myself. As I met people from all over the
world in my work place, I had the idea to write in
four different languages to reach a larger audience.
In the beginning, I learnt French painfully. At the
faculty of letters, I was disappointed. I had to leave
university without remorse. Since then I have learnt
Spanish and English. In 2010, I published ‘Salam’, in
2013 ‘Omnia’, in 2015 ‘120’ , in 2016 ‘Nadima’ and
‘What’s up?’ in 2017, stories in Arabic, English,
Spanish and French. As a writer, I wish to leave a
sincere and clear message before passing away.

3. A child
Sighing winds
Whispering trees
Flapping wings
Yawning sun
Country mornings
Awaiting fun
A child running
After a butterfly
His cries rising
High in the sky
Green meadows
Swarming with bees
Pasturing cows
Mourning doves
Near old ladies
Remembering loves
That became stories
And the mad child
After his fairies
Still running wild
Tuesday, March, 13, 2001

4. Dog’s life
A child and a dog,
Both lost in the smog,
Sharing almost everything,
Bed, meal and ceiling,
Wandering in the night
Out of people's sight
To fall asleep anywhere,
With no cover but their hair.
A dog and a child, together,
Live, survive and suffer
Under the cold of winter.
But people seem colder
When seeing both creatures
That show strange features,
They go on walking
As if it were nothing.
Wednesday, March 21, 2001

5. Wooden hearts
He lies in the middle of the road
His wounds bleeding
People around
Just keep watching
With wooden hearts
The curtains down coming
This is the end of a tragedy
He has just played his last cards
To face such an awful destiny
Neither the wounds give up bleeding
Nor people give up watching
Monday, April, 30, 2001

6. Martyr
She had just given birth
To a nice child
She cried for all she was worth
Then she died
She had always dreamt
Of becoming a mother
Never had she felt
Like living forever
But for the sake of her lover
And the child they would have together
Thursday, May, 10, 2001, 16:40

7. Hope
Looking desperately at the sky
Not, at all, aiming high,
An injured refugee
Wonders where to flee.
A child of not more than five
Obliged to keep hope alive
In the face of so many dangers:
Mines, missiles, hunger and vultures.
O lost son! I am so sorry
I could not calm your worry.
Saturday, October, 13, 2001

8. Shadow
That tear on your cheek seemed to be
Like moonlight reflected on a quiet sea.
We both were young and somehow crazy.
I was the bee; you were the daisy.
We were too young to understand.
Our love was too weak to withstand.
If only we could believe it to succeed.
We chose the word; we forgot the deed.
Do you remember as I still do?
All the wonder in this life was you.
Tell me if I am mistaken or what.
Now you are nothing but the shadow
Of a young girl I knew years ago,
Something that lies deep in my heart.
Saturday, 1, December, 2001.

9. Ashes
Smoke rises in the air
As lost souls fade away
After the end of a nightmare,
War that let nothing
But ashes everywhere.
A dead woman lying
On her cold child
Had tried to save him in vain.
With her hands, so tender and mild,
She wanted to cover him from a fire rain.
Were they men or devils?
Those who dared shoot both dead?
I am afraid, more than wild animals,
They had neither a heart nor a head.
Monday, 17 December, 2001.

10. Lies
With their snaky neck-ties,
They pose before the cameras
To bestow upon us with lies
About the best of all the eras.
Even a child of less than ten
Can immediately realize
The nasty trick and then
Lose faith. Though wise
Politicians pretend to be,
The result, at last, belies
All they promised yesterday.
Thursday, 19 December, 2001.

11. Who?
Who wins when a mine explodes
And an innocent child falls
On the burning ground
Unconscious of the world around
To awake after long hours
And see he lost his members?
Tuesday, 1, January, 2002. (15h)

12. What?
Human waves flowing
While the cannons blowing,
The widows wailing
And the orphans crying.
What do they harvest,
those who send soldiers
to burst down the innocents’ houses
and inflict upon them such heavy losses?
What do they win, those
Who sell destructive weapons
To rival nations or factions
And, thus, make their end close?
Wednesday, 2, January, 2002.

13. Wonder
She used to go down to the river
To fill her buckets with water.
Like an insane, I used to follow her.
It was one lovely summer.
I used to anticipate her
And jump into the water.
She would let me suffer.
As usual, I caught fever.
She was a real wonder.
I was too young to gather
She was to leave soon or later.
While I was thinking in wonder,
I was surprised by my mother:
“You will no more catch fever!”
Only then did I gather
The one I used to call “Wonder”
Had just left forever.
THURSDAY, 3, DECEMBER, 2002.

14. Game
He was a child with every right to play.
As usual, he was so glad that day
When the sky began raining with fire
He was but a child with a huge desire
To play with children of his age,
Unaware of hatred, revenge and rage.
Another innocent among so many others,
Killed, mutilated or left without fathers.
The coward behind the handle is decorated
in a solemn act with all vampires invited
to celebrate the murder of innocent people
in a nasty, unfair and unequal battle.
© Copyright 2018 Mohamed Failali
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED