Home Culture All That begins will reach its end – Poem

All That begins will reach its end – Poem

Smara, Morocco

The stones will never be drops of rain

And the flies will never drive the train.

The bees will always run after spring

And the artist  birds will always dance and sing.

The love we chase in this fake  life is but for bed,

And the bed we build is but for white nights and red.


The waves will keep running day after night

To the shores as we open and close

Our eyes every  dawn and every dusk.

The tongue will always sleep between its teeth

And the bones will always be covered with their  meat.

Not all what we eat will stay inside our stomachs,

And not all what hurts will cause us a bad headache.


The feet will always sleep and rest inside theirs shoes,

No heart can beat in the place of yours,

And no  eye will lead your feet but yours.

What is yours will always be yours,

Keep this in heart and mind, dear friend,

And what is theirs will never be yours.

As  the fingers will never be toes

And as a stone can never be a rose,


This life is but a bridge to  come and go:

Those  who will come soon will take their bags and go

And those who go surely will never come back again.

As  the night follows its beautiful or ugly day,

And  as the sunset follows its wonderful sunrise,

Our life tests  will certainly come and follow

Those who came with birthdays and life rise.


God bless those who eat to share and those who think

That angels are writing what they do with divine ink,

Those who help those who can’t help

But to pray, to work, to live and to care

For those who have nothing but what they share.

As teeth will quit everyone’s mouth,


And as tongues will be buried inside their mouths,

We will surely leave behind our homes and clothes.

All what we built on the pavements and on the roads

Will be left behind on the same roads as well.

We are but shepherds and passerbyes in this short life.

A life that will  end is but a fake life

And a love that will die is but a fake love.


On every neck, I see the knife of death

Waiting for the hand of fate to slaughter and kill

The big, the small, the healthy and the ill.

Let’s keep this between our eyes and in minds:

Our roads have the same ends at the end.

And as this poem  reaches its end,

Here I am putting the full stop to remind

That all what begins certainly will reach its end.

Photo by Yassine Abouyaala

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