Poet, plastic artist and media director Radio passion.
Her Salon Saraya for literature, arts and heritage
Founding member of the Tunisian Writers Association
Publications: “Fingers in the palm of the sun” and silence as missing prayers translated into two languages
– Joint Office entitled “talk Jasmine”.
– Play: Moon, Boy and Tales ”
He who steals a flash of light
His wound hangs in the earring of the moon.
If the darkness has doubled?
Whoever holds us away, all sidewalks are arrows
Who draws our lines in the range
To blossom a blossomed tree in the corridor?
All the bells blowing the dust are you
And your silence restored the footsteps of the forgotten ..
The spring will be thrown above the chest of the cravings.
The Yamam will come from his pink house
It gives you a light sky and crying stars
O baby girl out of the shadows
Do we survive the trap of the sick heart ??
O you running over the fingers of the wind
This place is an old wound
We loot him all of our sworn poems in the retreating place.
Baby girl pour gardens in each other
And fun with the sneaky lovers
The earth pulls from both ends of the void,
And devise another sea for our next journey.
To pass through our eternal puzzling.
Travel comes to exercise his desire to leave
As if all the harbors were carried by the wind to
A balcony legitimate on our empty ..
The street and the old dead say
And the girl who lives in the stone mirror
Near the river:
No lightning .. No rain tempts us to stay.
Memory returns from the silence of oblivion
She holds in her purse the tales of those who were killed.
And the epics assassinated them.
O woman, waiting in the nakedness of the gray time
That street is no longer rioting the senses of the late night.
Who are you, the girl who craves the gallows ??
Aching stifles your colored butterflies.
You are still despite the stabs of the daggers
Chasing dreams in hidden lanes
You shake your vibrant pulse of stillness
You, what you want, alien child
You have stars roaming your darkness
You have a rain that will fill you
You have a wound and a sore groaning
A boat will carry you into the sun
Nothing will surprise you other than the dust of the roads
Dwell in your eternal cave
You carry another resurrection in which lovers are sent
Who died behind their age.
Are you mobilizing with what is left behind by fires ??
Where is the wind coming from us?
Only you embrace the dream
You embroider the sheets of poems.
O woman, the clouds land on her palm
She falls between the lines of her hands the prophecies of fortune tellers
When the sea is swamped by drowning and the salt festival.
O woman gives her palms a song
To all who departed on the desires of pain
How were the cities decorated?
And the desolate streets were made a kingdom?
The poems will fly to you
And Alkmnjat Shik …..
O woman full of white
Raise in a book without a break
You have what you want
From the kisses of the night
And from the amazement of the morning
You have a star in the south of the country
And a torrent trembling in the fingers of the beloved.
Come on, woman, don’t stand at the point of soreness.
Teach the wind the wisdom of anxiety.