Poems by Mohamed Ali LAGOUADER, Morocco

[Habib2]

Life is rough


Run for money, run for fun;
Show your honey, none will shun
Your company, run, run, run!
Rough, rough, rough, life is rough:
I, he, she will laugh, laugh, laugh
At those who don’t have enough.
Laugh, laugh, laugh:
That’s rough stuff. But life is rough.
So run for money, run for fun;
Show your honey, none will shun
Your company, run, run, run!

Ya Subhanallah!


dooooooooooooooog.com


On his blog my dog
Writes about animal rights:
We animals, says my dog,
Should be safe from rain, heat or fog;
We should be well-fed with the best milk and the best bread;
We should work no more than we were made for:
It’s not because a donkey doesn’t complain
That he doesn’t feel the pain;
Nay, even a donkey can be weak:
So let him work no more than thirty-five hours a week,
And for extra hours give him showers of praise
And showers of food, not showers of blows wherever he goes !
A camel, too, cannot always do
Whatever man wants him to do.
Camels should not be used as «animal shields»
To clear humans’ minefields,
And for the crazy efforts they make
They shouldn’t be fed with pieces of cake
But with the best that the best land yields.
If a dog’s master goes biking in the morning,
Then the master must not ride faster
Than the dog, or else we’ll name and shame him on the blog!
There should be no less than a *****
For every five dogs, if not one for each!
There should be no less than a coq
For every seven hens, or at least one for every ten!
It’s a great shock for thirty ewes
To wait their turn for a single ram
That is prone to spurn anyone with a lamb.
We animals have dignity, and it’s beneath man’s dignity
To make jokes and cartoons about us.
Don’t we work for those folks who make jokes about us?
Is it because man doesn’t respect human rights
That he wouldn’t care about animal rights?
But, nay, I, Poet’s Dog, have created this blog to be the watchdog.
Welcome to dooooooooooooooog.com


I Wanna Be a Beeh


Ana 'ayez eeh?
Well, I wanna be a beeh:
A guy seated in a high
Chair, swinging my feet,
Stroking my hair,
Drinking all that’s sweet
While my secretary smiles at me,
Waves at me,
Sings me Um Koultoum,
Drives all the gloom
Away from me.
I wanna be a beeh
With a moustache and a beard;
A great guy to be feared
At the office and in the car,
Dazzling those who see me from afar.
I wanna be a beeh
With a great hanem,
Great in shape like the women of Harlem,
But gentle like an ape,
Not like a Kheddewi hanem.
I wanna be a beeh
With a Havana cigar,
With a Limousine car.
I wanna have the look of a star.
I wanna be a beeh
Dearer than the gueneeh,
Dearer than the charm of Nancy Ajram,
Dearer than freedom
For the detainees at *****m.
I wanna be a beeh
In a grey suit and red tie,
With a long stick and large purse,
Making everyone look shy
Like an impotent man
In front of a nurse!
Oh, but just tell me why:
Why can't I be that beeh?


Some Hasheesh?


Afandem?
Hasheesh walla Marijwana, Afandem?
Both? Great!
But just you wait:
I'll tell you a tale!
As soon as you inhale hasheesh
You'll leave the daraweesh
Beta'e baladna
You will wanna
Fly high, high,
In the sky:
You will see cars
Dancing at Tahreer Square
You will see bars
Full of maids who don't care
Of their boss but do care of you!
They will mourn the loss
Of the smile they miss in you!
You will hear them cry
As you fly to Istanbul
And there maids will come with their hands full
Of Jasmine and full
They'l l beg you to alight
They'll promise you every delight
Bush and Blair will tear their hair
Out of envy of you!
But you will laugh
And say that's not enough!
You'll take Marijuana
And leave for Botswana
The King there will come out running
You'll hear him say: oh, how stunning
The smell of Marijuana
In my Botswana!
He'll take you into His palace
You'll imagine yourself in Dallas
Having wine with the Ewings
You'll fly all over the Reunion Tower
With no tail, no wings
And when you wake
You'll take a shower
And go back to work.


Daddy, I Beg of You!


Daddy ! Daddy ! Daddy !
Oh, just tell me, daddy !
What can I do, daddy ?
The girls at Kuwait University
Are smarter than the girls in Jersey City
You know what, daddy,
They have Mercedes cars
They have Rolls-Royce cars
They have Ferrari cars
But me, daddy, I have no cars !
Oh, daddy ! Daddy ! Daddy !
You know what, daddy,
Everything in my class
Is First Class !
You know what, daddy,
I saw a black girl
Wearing such a pearl
That even Joseph would be tempted by her !
And I won’t tell you, daddy,
About her gold and fur.
You know, daddy,
She’s a girl but they call her Sir !
Oh, daddy ! Daddy ! Daddy !
Where could I stand, daddy,
On this crazy land, daddy,
Among Parisian skirts
And Los Angeles jeans,
Amid snobbish flirts
Who know what money means ?
Oh, daddy ! Daddy ! Daddy !
I just don’t know what makeup
I should wear when I wake up
’Cause the girls in my class
Look finer than the finest glass
When they sit around me, daddy !
Oh, daddy ! Daddy ! Daddy !
I wanna have a car
That no one’s driven so far ;
I wanna have a dress
That would hit the national press ;
I wanna have makeup
That would make the dead wake up ;
I wanna have gold and pearls
That would make me the Queen of the girls !
Oh, daddy ! Daddy ! Daddy !
Do that for me, daddy !


Would Sindbad ...


Would Sindbad be sad or glad
To be back in Baghdad?
Would he be happy
To stay amid boys and tanks?
Or rather say, “No, thanks! Bye!
I’ll fly to New York!”
Would he eat camel meat or pork
In New York?
Would he have milk and dates?
Or chips and Coke in New York?
Would he play the guitar?
Or the lute and flute in New York?
Would he study democracy at N.Y.U.?
Or tell the Arabian Nights in Jersey City?
Would he miss Layla in New York?
Would he like the people there
On Washington Square?
Would he fall in love in New York?
Would he say, “Get down, baby!”
Or, “If only you knew how much I care!”?
Would he go on air
And say, “Hi Bush and Blair!
No one’s lost, no one’s won.
Stop the war! And let’s move on!”


I love your veil


What’s all this tale about the veil?
Fred and Gail shout and hail
Straw as hero
For his hail of fire on Aïsha’s attire.
Did Straw want Aïsha to show
Herself from head to toe?
Let Gail wear a mini-skirt
For her flirt.
And let Aïsha wear on her face
Or on her hair
Whatever piece
That would bring her peace
Vis-à-vis God and vis-à-vis Man.
Oh, man!
Why d’you wish her to disclose
Her beautiful eyes and nice nose
Or her lips or her hips
If that belongs to her?
Come on, Sir!
That body you want her to show
Is a diamond dearer than the glow
Of the face of Marilyn Monroe!



Lies


They tell me
There's the moon and the stars
And the skies and nothing beyond the skies.
Lies!
There's God beyond the skies,
I tell you.
When that woman gave birth
To her little son
She didn't feel that the Earth
Travels around the sun.
It's all one to the tellers of lies
Who believe the Earth and the skies
Were not made by the One
Who never behaves out of fun,
But were made by chance
Like the meeting of a girl and a boy
Who came to dance.
Lies!
They call themselves wise
But would they tell me why
A girl doesn't look like a guy
Nor does sunset look like sunrise
Nor do I look like my siblings?
Would they please tell me
Who made the soul that makes the flute weep?
Who made the bird's twitter
Different from the bleat of sheep?
Would they be bitter
If I asked why
A vulture flies high in the sky
Whereas a peacock won't go that far?


Muhammad


What can I say on your day
When every day is your day ?
O Muhammad ! O Taha ! O shafi’na on the Last Day !
From the day you stood to say :
O Man ! I’m but a man
Sent to save you, sent to tell you
The way that’ll lead you away
From the one who led you astray
To the One Who made you ’n the best way
And gave you beauty and bounty in every way
And will yet give you joy where you’ll stay
For ever and ever, as you say !
From that day,
O Muhammad ! O Taha ! O shafi’na on the Last Day !
Men came to you on foot and horseback ;
They said as you said
And prayed as you prayed
And when attacked, they fought back.
You lived in a shack
While your beauty was brighter than the moon ;
You ate with your hands
While one with your beauty would use a gold spoon ;
You sat on the sands
While one with your glory
Would build himself storey upon storey :
And that’s why your story
Has gone as far as Brunei and Zinjibar
And London and New York
Where people eat with a knife and fork,
They too say as you said
And pray as you prayed
And when wrongly questioned, they answer back.
O Muhammad ! O Taha ! O shafi’na on the Last Day !
What can I say on your day
When every day is your day ?
From just a few those who came to you
Filled every hill, swamped every dale,
They made Time stand still till their tale
Made the mightiest kingdoms frail
And brought the Muslim flag as close as Prague !
The Arabian Nights tells of made-up knights
And of Harun al-Rasheed
Whose life the Truth of your Message
Made eed upon eed !
And yet someone came to draw
A pic of a man whose peer he never saw,
And papers and commentators
Seeking cheap money and fake glory
Made every story
Out of the Story of the man whose glory
Defies all Posts and all Tribunes and all Times !
O Muhammad ! O Taha ! O shafi’na on the Last Day !
What can I say on your day
When every day is your day ?
When your name has brought fame
To a Dane who became insane ?
What can I say on your day
When night and day
Souls repeat your words
As if they were songs of jungle birds !
Peace be upon you and all those who followed your way !
O Muhammad ! O Taha ! O shafi’na on the Last Day !

Mohamed Ali LAGOUADER
Morocco
Copyright ©2007 by Mohammed Lagouader
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