Rigorous
Volume Four, Issue 3



M. Ait Ali


While the pianist continues playing.

I abhor it;
I'm rotting inside
its womb, growing
out of its filth, circling
around it 'nd chanting a
hide-and-seek song.

It's my fancy
to fly to where
I do as necessity bids:―
where the enduring egotist
within hears the name
of Itch recited oft-times.

& I say,
Spit the dust!
Spit the ghost!
Go meet your maker!

My house is
a broken silence always
of a mind to walk barefoot
in the streets―succumbing
to the fretful & mouth-scarfed
sounds of famous actors.

“Be a toothless squirrel!
Be a seahorse!
Be a windflower!
Anything! but not another earthling!”


Little complaints I must
trot out, knowing that
man is the symbol of struggle,―
to each his chance of joy;
each shoots blank in the very end.




The faint lilacs which caused pity caused also contempt

I picture myself
as a peasant,―wearing
all the black of licorice candy,―
whacked-out like
a leaf knocked galley-west
by too much fascination for the sun.

'nd the soil is
of a certain black, too.
'nd I turn it over, 'nd it doesn't turn.

I picture myself
falling from the edge of virtue
disturbing the dirt, while
in my view there's a soil
that, in all likelihood, had absorbed all
the books of rage and beliefs of men.

All my fears are true.
It is as hard as I think it is.

The wind hit my face, my
lopsided lips, and teeth, it
hammered a nail into my cradle,―
perhaps, it all started as a breeze somewhere,
tho', where I am at, everything
must be a formidable nail.

I didn't even wish
to sit and eat under a tree,―
the wind hit my face once again,
'nd I obediently followed it
like a future husband.

I'm not as good as to walk
through a crowd, the teeth I most needed,
aren't through yet.



M. Ait Ali: "I was born in January, 1992, in Agadir. A Moroccan writer and poet, who finds in words and poetry a total escape from the depressive realism I encounters in my everyday life.

"Poetry and writing for me are both a passion and a therapy capable of taming my demons.

"Since childhood, I had a weakness for both reading books and writing, and my love for words developed into a daily obligatory passion, which is definitely a sort of relief and progress.

“I try through my writings to speak the woes that the broken ones endure silently.

“I have survived in summer 2016 a failed suicide attempt "O.D." following a tragic event.

“Since then, I vowed to refill my soul with my passion for words, and the meaning it accords me.

“I earned in 2016 a bachelor's degree in renewable energies and energy efficiency at The Higher School of Technology-Agadir, (EST.) along with a diploma in advanced French.

“My most readings are in English, French, and Arabic from my favorite authors and philosophers as Stendhal, Schopenhauer, Baruch Spinoza, Baudelaire, Arthur Rimbaud, Percy Shelley, Fernando Pessoa, Bukowski, Kerouac, Walt Whitman, Khalil Gibran, Al-Manfaluti..."




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