Think Forward.

Poetry

​🏰 Sandcastle🏰 599

Boucharfou, 5 d.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.2 min read.
​It often happened to me that I would draw my dreams on quicksand which ruthless waves, crashing upon the shore, came to destroy to erase all hope and preserve my setbacks Yet, I was naive and unaware My pretensions vanish and disappear in a few moments My apprehensions resurface nonetheless Consequently, I remain distraught for a long time and cry over the ruins of the quicksands ​Dr Fouad Bouchareb All rights are reserved Agadir, November 18, 2025

Being a doctor...in my generation! 621

Boucharfou, 5 d.
- Society - Lifestyle - Poetry -
0.3 min read.
Medicine was an art practiced without flaw by a rare horde of people dedicated to their lauded work, who often remained stuck in the hospital to be that lifeline of oxygen and life. We remained clear-headed. We weren't greedy at all. Our medicine, whatever anyone said, and in all honesty, brought honor and happiness. It was our reason for being. Without it, we would be nothing but poor people, ultimately given over to doubt Dr. Fouad Bouchareb All rights reserved

The Value of Authenticity 1087

Boucharfou, 8 d.
​This is our problem. 👌 ​What value does friendship have without sincerity? What value does reading have without understanding? What value does writing have without evoking emotions? What value do words have without meaning? What value does discussion have without logic? What value does a smile have without pure intentions? What value does a commitment have without loyalty? ​Too often, we make friends without being sincere, we love without being faithful, we talk a lot without acting, and we promise without keeping our word. ​Dr Fouad Bouchareb All rights reserved Agadir, November 15, 2025

Complaints to God 1877

Boucharfou, 15 d.
- Politics - Lifestyle - Poetry -
0.5 min read.
​💔 Complaint to God ​O, you who struck me with arrows of betrayal And want me to understand the cause of the harm You think the wound has been bandaged And that I have moved past the injustice And forgotten that its puncture is still bleeding? The heart still weeps from its burning pain Despite the passing of years and seasons. How astonishing she is, and her audacity, How she narrates delusions, And how life increases its smiles for her, And how her eye finds comfort in sleep, And enjoys dreams, And thinks she is receiving blessings, While she is the one who humbled stature and nations. So, to the Lord of the Kaaba, I pray and complain of injustice, For her injustice was a bad omen, Not blameworthy, For she is an ill omen that does not deserve a word from me, Not even a greeting, nor peace. So, to God I complain and plead for a judgment, For Glorified is He, He is Wise and All-Knowing. ​Dr. Fouad Bouchareb All rights reserved October 28, 2025

The Lost Necklace 1913

Boucharfou, 15 d.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.5 min read.
The Lost Necklace ​How beautiful is your dentition Which sparkles like a necklace of diamonds ​So Desirable and appetizing ​When I kiss you and embrace you ​With fervor and grace ​I savor your saliva like such fine milk ​Where musk and wine mingle ​O apple of my eye O gift from the heavens ​It is you I love and desire ​Your presence is a true pleasure ​What must I do to attract you and please you? ​When you fled My insomnia deprived me of your smile ​Suddenly the gleam of the necklace eclipsed ​And I found myself sick and lost ​To the great dismay of my messenger ​Will you return one day? ​Will you keep your promise? ​Who will transmit my poetry? ​Perhaps one evening the South wind ​Will bring you my message ​Which confesses my feelings and my pledges ​My sorrows and my misfortunes ​And the slender hope ​Of seeing the gleam of your dentition in the dark one day ​Dr Fouad Bouchareb Inspired by an Andalusian music poem Quoddam El Hgaz El Kebir November 8, 2025

​The Ultimate Dance 💃 ​ 2058

Boucharfou, 17 d.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.6 min read.
​The Ultimate Dance 💃 ​He whispers to me during our waltz Words and beautiful phrases He holds me tight in his arms And takes me into extraordinary dreams ​And the tears from my eyes... As if by magic, illuminate earth and sky ​He carries me to all corners of the dance floor In this sweet evening between music and choristers ​And I, like a child in his hands Like a feather in a trance to the rhythm of the refrains ​He offers me the stars and the moon and his hand He hums hymns for better tomorrows ​He offers me the sun He offers me summer and its warmth He promises me years of happiness ​He tells me that I am unique And that I am worth more than all the stars and Sputniks That I am a treasure The best picture on board ​His words intoxicate me To the point of making me lose the rhythm of my steps Words of love that I don't know ​Which restore my implacable femininity He builds me a sandcastle That I inhabit for a few unforgettable seconds ​Then I return... I return to my table Just with memorable words ​Dr Bouchareb Fouad All rights reserved November the 6th, 2025

Dreams 3613

Boucharfou, 29 d.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.6 min read.
Dreams Every morning when I wake up I remember my dream I think I saw it in my dreams I'm caught in a fear that eats away at me And my heart is beating with fear and desire. Unfortunately, the unfolding of my dreams is unremarkable A collection of illogical events All my memories with her fade like autumn leaves who yield to the caresses of the breeze And they ended up washing up on the ground wet with my tears Witnesses of my misfortunes I sailed against the winds and tides Looking at the horizon In search of a country that would inhabit me But in vain A kind of forward flight It doesn't bode well What memories born in pain I apprehended happiness I hoped with glow I waited patiently But it's been a long wait Very long Feeling the storm approaching I hung on the mast And then I landed at the first port of oblivion I fell into alcohol and its alchemy And suddenly my dreams resurfaced I was shaking and not standing there anymore And nightmares haunt my targeted nights And replaced my shattered dreams Dr Fouad Bouchareb All rights reserved October 24, 2025

He thinks 3840

Boucharfou, 1 mon.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.6 min read.
He thinks.... He thinks that in his nailed hands I'm nothing but a toy. I don’t think I’ll go back to him. Today, everything has changed — As if nothing had ever happened. And with the innocence of angels from the skies in the look in his eyes, He tells me: I am the keeper of this place, And that I am his one true love. He brought me flowers. How could I not accept them? And all the naivety of youth I found again in his gentle smile. I no longer remember... the fire in your eyes. How did I find myself in his arms? I laid my head on his chest, proud, Like a child returned to their father or mother. Even my long-abandoned dresses danced at his feet, all of them. I forgave him… and asked how he had been. And I cried for hours under his armpit. And without thinking, I gave him my hand, So it could sleep like a bird in his. And I forgot all my hatred in a fraction of a second. Who said I held a grudge against him? How many times did I say I’d never return? And yet I came back. My return is wonderful. To my first love. Dr. Fouad Bouchareb All rights reserved Toulouse, May 29, 2025

The judge of love 3937

Boucharfou, 1 mon.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.3 min read.
Oh you judge of love Be merciful to me Don't condemn me until you've listened to me I am a victim as always I swear it out loud She's the one who makes me sing And play tricks on me As before and always And pretends to be up Mr. Judge Believe Me And before you say and to judge me with your law Remember, yes remember That you too were mistreated By your lover many times And you felt what I feel Despite your good faith So be merciful to me And do me justice for once Otherwise in your law I will lose my faith I was what you are, you'll be what I am Dr Bouchareb Fouad June 4, 2024 All rights reserved

Palace of the Kasbah 4744

Boucharfou, 1 mon.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.6 min read.
Malaga, Palace of the Kasbah Each time I wander there, a strange phenomenon occurs it seems I can hear the murmur of another age, an extraordinary idyll, from a past not so distant, suddenly extinguished, leaving a feeling of the unfinished, of an era that left its mark, of which Arabs and Moors still speak, and nearly every spirit recalls those of noble souls and proud Iberian Spaniards. In the gardens, I seem to hear melodious songs, of lovers and beloveds sharing cups of wine, pure juice of the vine, and mugs of beer, behind stone walls as if it were yesterday sole witnesses of a past they hold dear, hidden from the envious eyes of pawns, to the great dismay of spies and the curious. Suddenly rises the voice of a singer, sweet and marvelous, healing the wounds of every broken heart that no physician, however wise, had ever managed to cure. O Andalusia, land of a glorious past, of wondrous tales and shining episodes! The Palace of the Kasbah still stands proud, rising high through time, faithful to its noble heritage, awaiting the resurrection of its Caliph and his courtiers. Dr. Fouad Bouchareb The Palace of the Kasbah Malaga, September 16, 2022 All rights reserved

Love! 5196

Boucharfou, 1 mon.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.5 min read.
Love! (Inspired by Jalal Eddine Rumi) Love is destiny. We hardly ever choose the moment to love; It happens one evening… or one morning. It comes by pure chance, Leaving you confused and dazed. The day you expect it the least, You never saw it coming from afar. It strikes in the blink of an eye, Without an appointment, It makes you gentle, It makes you lose your reason. It makes you flee your home. Like fire, it burns with passion. Love at first sight is common— Each will have their share, their portion. Without logic… Yet it’s beautiful, despite all we endure. It’s a pure feeling, When it is sincere. It’s magic, It’s fantastic. Despite its pains and sorrows, Its sleepless nights until dawn, It is life’s elixir, Ecstasy without end. It comes to you as if by magic, Lifting you away from everything, Besieging you from everywhere, Taking over your soul… And driving you mad, sooner or later! Dr. Fouad Bouchareb El Médano / Tenerife August 24, 2025 All rights reserved

The Neighbor of the Valley 5090

Boucharfou, 1 mon.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.8 min read.
The Neighbor of the Valley (Inspired by the song of Fairouz — “Ya Jarat al-Wadi”) O neighbor of the valley, O joy, O turmoil of my soul, Your memories and dreams haunt me still, Calling me, claiming my whole. In my dreams as in my waking mind, Your love remains, ever near; And the memories softly resound, Echoes of a past still clear. I passed again by the gardens, So green, so full of life — There where I once met you, Upon that sunlit hill. Faces and eyes smiled upon me, And in their breath I sensed your scent. My weary soul revived at once, She who had mourned her fate Since the day you went. Never before had I known The sweetness of a lover’s embrace, Until the day I gently held you close — You, the red-haired grace, Whose supple form bent softly in my hands, Like a slender branch swayed by the breeze, And whose cheeks, out of modesty, Blushed with tender unease. The language of words fell silent then, Yielding to the speech of eyes; Mine spoke to yours With the passion love implies. The stars and the heavens, our only allies, Bore witness to us before the skies. And when night came, I held you again, Caressed and kissed you Until the breaking of dawn — Before we drifted apart, forlorn. Since that day, there has been no yesterday, No tomorrow, no day after, No time thereafter. The flow of time has ceased forever, And was condensed into that one day — The day I basked in all your favor. Dr Fouad Bouchareb Rabat, October 11, 2025 All rights reserved

The One Tormented by Love 4288

Boucharfou, 1 mon.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.6 min read.
The One Tormented by Love He whom love is nothing but torment and cries, Whom sleep abandons and flees, Whose endless tears touch all who see him suffer. His wounded and tortured heart knows no respite, And his bruised eyelids remain open forever. The leaves tremble beneath his sighs, And the stone melts under the weight of his groans. He speaks to the stars, Telling them of his misfortunes, His cries and his sorrows… In vain. He ends up tiring them, They slip away and abandon him, Leaving him motionless and weary, Yet awake, gazing beyond. Yet every tearful admirer Would dream that her hands could brush him, Touch him, Behold him, And love him. His eyes denied the blood he shed; Would his face deny his pain as well? When his witnesses of love left him without honor, He displayed his cheek so that it could bear witness in their place. Between her and him, love is a solid bond, Impossible to break or tarnish. Why then so many reproaches That open to him the door of oblivion, Only to slam it forever in his face? Dr. Fouad Bouchareb Inspired by the song of Mohammed Abdelouhab "مضناك جفاه مرقده" All rights reserved – October 10, 2025 https://youtu.be/-GHCmtjiygw?si=Qpt_iVR9hWrdSqK8

An Illusory Return 4354

Boucharfou, 2 mon.
An Illusory Return The morning breeze foretells the return of my beloved, After leaving me for so many years. If she truly comes, it will be at noon At least, that’s what she told me. The morning breeze foretells the return of my beloved, After leaving me for so many years. Could it be a premonition? Will she really come back to me? Or is it a pious wish, A dream of a time long gone and faded? Yet everything seems to foretell her return On this break of day: A blue sky, bright and clear, A sun rising early, strangely so, Majestic unusually radiant. The moon takes its leave discreetly and all the better for it. The morning breeze foretells the return of my beloved, After leaving me for so many years. I tremble and waver in my corner like a child, I cry out in enchantment, I can no longer keep still I lose all sense. A swallow lands upon my balcony, As if to show me its sympathy. The morning breeze foretells the return of my beloved, After leaving me for so many years. Time stops it feels like eternity. The ticking of my watch falters, losing its rhythm, The hands seem frozen, stretched apart. I hold my breath, I can hardly breathe, I’m suffocating, Sweat pouring from every pore, My head spinning, my sight blurred. The morning breeze foretells the return of my beloved, After leaving me for so many years. Suddenly, the morning breeze ceases. I sense that she is not yet ready. The sun vanishes like a sorcerer, Hiding behind the clouds. The moon peeks through now and then, As if to mock his retreat. The ticking of my watch resumes its old rhythm, The clock hands blend together enchantingly. I catch my breath again, Regain my composure, Put my jacket back on, Recover my reason, And stop asking questions. I am convinced she will not return today She has not kept her word, as always. I shall wait for another breeze, On another morning, That will once again announce her return. Until then I’ll go out for a walk. Dr. Fouad Bouchareb Rabat, October 26, 2022 All rights reserved.

He thinks.... 4402

Boucharfou, 2 mon.
- Society - Lifestyle - Poetry -
0.6 min read.
He thinks.... He thinks that in his nailed hands I'm nothing but a toy. I don’t think I’ll go back to him. Today, everything has changed As if nothing had ever happened. And with the innocence of angels from the skies in the look in his eyes, He tells me: I am the keeper of this place, And that I am his one true love. He brought me flowers. How could I not accept them? And all the naivety of youth I found again in his gentle smile. I no longer remember... the fire in your eyes. How did I find myself in his arms? I laid my head on his chest, proud, Like a child returned to their father or mother. Even my long-abandoned dresses danced at his feet, all of them. I forgave him… and asked how he had been. And I cried for hours under his armpit. And without thinking, I gave him my hand, So it could sleep like a bird in his. And I forgot all my hatred in a fraction of a second. Who said I held a grudge against him? How many times did I say I’d never return? And yet I came back. My return is wonderful. To my first love. Dr. Fouad Bouchareb All rights reserved Toulouse, May 29, 2025

My Street 4044

Boucharfou, 2 mon.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.2 min read.
My Street It belongs to me It’s part of my daily life It’s a kind of identity and bond I love the name of my street, and that’s fine It wasn’t named for nothing My street is called Hablmlouk And it’s not just any name Yes, it’s called Cherry Street 🍒 It’s beautiful and exquisite It reminds me every moment of Sefrou My hometown With ancestral roots It enchants me from all sides And for me, above all That’s enough It’s better that way Dr. Bouchareb Fouad May 18, 2020

Love 3942

Boucharfou, 2 mon.
Love! Love is a destiny We hardly choose the moment to love It happens one evening or one morning It happens by pure chance It leaves you confused and haggard One day when you least expect it You didn't see it coming from afar It happens in the blink of an eye... Without an appointment... It makes you soft... It makes you lose your mind... It makes you run away from home Like fire, it burns you with passion Love at first sight is legion You'll get your share, your ration Without logic... But it's beautiful despite everything we endure It's a pure feeling When it's sincere It's magical It's fantastic Despite its pains and sorrows, its sleepless nights Until morning It's the elixir of life It's endless ecstasy... It happens to you by magic... Content in loving takes you away from everything... It besieges you from everywhere! It takes over! It will drive you crazy sooner or later!!! Dr. Fouad Bouchareb El Medano / Tenerife August 24, 2025 Inspired by a text by Jalal Eddine Erroumi Arabic and Arabic All rights reserved

The Alleys of Marrakech 3905

Boucharfou, 2 mon.
The Alleys of Marrakech Whether on foot or by carriage They are magnificent, the alleys of Marrakech. What a pleasure to wander through these shaded paths, Changing my route each time I pass. I mingle with the crowd, The atmosphere is lively, the spirit proud. The Marrakchis are funny, always cool, Full of charm, they follow no rule. The Spice Square feels like a spell, From the terraces above, the view is swell. It leaves romantics lost in dreams, Where everything is more than it seems. Herbalists sell their fragrant spices, Pets abound, with no disguises. Once at Jemaa el-Fna, everything bursts in color, Scents rising everywhere, one after the other. Different dishes with countless flavors Are served here, to everyone’s favors. A true delight, A magical sight, A festival of culinary art, From a millennial cuisine with heart. The snakes taunt the curious who stare, Cobras bare their fangs to the air. Only the flute’s enchanted sound Can soothe their ardor as it floats around, Amusing eyes that watch with glee— The charmers’ dance, their mystery. Mischievous monkeys, bold and sly, Beg for peanuts or coins to buy. They leap, they spin, they clown around, Acrobats playing for the crowd. Fruit juices please the wandering souls, But as for me—I love the snails. The tooth-pullers draw in the reckless, With makeshift pliers, their work is merciless. Molars and canines, pulled without care, No anesthesia, just cries in the air. A pitiful trade, For those betrayed They’ll return again someday, Hoping dentures will ease the pain away. The café terraces all around Are filled with life, night and day bound. Different melodies blend and collide, In the square, a noisy tide. The clamor echoes, wild and strange, A soundscape that never seems to change. And when I head back, my mind still rings, With the echoes that this city brings. I know tomorrow I’ll return again, On foot or by carriage, it’s all the same. To these mythical places, where magic flows, Marrakech, your charm forever grows. Dr. Bouchareb Fouad Marrakech, March 17, 2023 All rights reserved

Narcissism at its Extreme 3979

Boucharfou, 2 mon.
- Society - Lifestyle - Poetry -
0.5 min read.
How handsome he is, the man with the hat! A true Sagittarius, one of a kind, dignified and bold, fantastic, funny, extravagant, enigmatic, mysterious, curious, a dreamer, gentle and rebellious at the same time. For his family, he is an idol, for his colleagues, he is kind and witty, for his friends, a center of gravity. His days overflow with activity. He defies every law. A piercing gaze, commanding respect and regard. Sociable, and rather helpful. A sly smile never leaves indifferent those who cross his path. Some admire him, those who fight him end up retreating. His beauty can be seen from afar, though faded in certain corners. Beneath his bright hat he conceals secrets, mysteries, dreams, and desires. His charisma is real, a gift from heaven. His elegance envies no rival. A hidden strength, a star that sings in the heart of a lost night, a love song from the past that defies infinity— and it is better this way. Other stars, dazzled and amazed, in a serene sky, repeat their refrains while awaiting the break of dawn, the rising of the sun, and the warmth of its rays, one after the other. His kindness is legendary, his friendship exemplary, his reputation crosses borders and rivals his peers. Dr. Fouad Bouchareb All rights reserved Agadir, July 17, 2025

Perfect Imperfection 4324

El Hombre Galan, 2 mon.
- Poetry -
0.4 min read.
She has beautiful imperfection The right kind of right The sad song played happily when the black dog critic cries here after her Fragility and lies from un-cropped truth- this is something entirely surreal Hold on to embrace her necessity, and life gives life to her again The failed faucets of memories are for the taking- hurry up, love and let’s start to make mementos See the seas to sight and songs played loudly, quiet between the space of us I am trust and bare bones, I see the perfect imperfection in passing lines formed on your face Imperfection by society's eyes and mouth, unmoved and unbreakable determination - you make the bitter taste sweet. You are perfect imperfection.

Love 5805

Boucharfou, 3 mon.
Love! Love is a destiny We hardly choose the moment to love It happens one evening or one morning It happens by pure chance It leaves you confused and haggard One day when you least expect it You didn't see it coming from afar It happens in the blink of an eye... Without an appointment... It makes you soft... It makes you lose your mind... It makes you run away from home Like fire, it burns you with passion Love at first sight is legion You'll get your share, your ration Without logic... But it's beautiful despite everything we endure It's a pure feeling When it's sincere It's magical It's fantastic Despite its pains and sorrows, its sleepless nights Until morning It's the elixir of life It's endless ecstasy... It happens to you by magic... Content in loving takes you away from everything... It besieges you from everywhere! It takes over! It will drive you crazy sooner or later!!! Dr. Fouad Bouchareb El Medano / Tenerife August 24, 2025 Inspired by a text by Jalal Eddine Erroumi Arabic and Arabic All rights reserved

Towards a New Era: The CAA Advocates for Fairness and Representativeness in World Athletics 13326

Aziz Daouda, 4 mon.
- Sports - Poetry -
1.6 min read.
At its latest congress held on July 14, 2025, in Abeokuta, Nigeria, the Confederation of African Athletics (CAA) adopted a resolution that could shake up the governance structure of global athletics. At a time when the debate around modernity and representativeness in international sports institutions is intensifying, the CAA proposes major reforms for the organization World Athletics (WA). **At the heart of the reform: towards fairer governance** In light of recent developments in global sport and the imperative to ensure transparency and efficiency, the CAA believes it is time to revise the statutes of World Athletics, the global governing body for athletics. The primary goal is to strengthen continental representativeness within the WA Council. This reform necessarily hinges on key points in the resolution, notably fair representation by continent. The CAA suggests the establishment of a fixed quota of representatives for each continent within the Council. Such a measure would give each region an effective voice, limiting the overrepresentation of continents already firmly entrenched in international decision-making bodies. The CAA also proposes that members of the World Athletics Council be elected by the continental associations themselves, rather than by the global general assembly. According to the CAA, each continental association should directly elect its own representatives. The only exception in the proposed reform concerns the presidency: the position of World Athletics President would remain subject to the traditional election by the WA General Assembly, thereby preserving a form of institutional unity. The resolution goes further, proposing that for all World Athletics commissions and working groups, the appointment of members should also fall under the authority of continental associations—according to quotas predetermined by WA regulations. This approach aims to ensure genuine diversity in the technical and strategic circles of global athletics. This represents a new impetus for international sports democracy. The CAA’s initiative aligns with a worldwide movement demanding greater democracy, transparency, and balance in the governance of major sports federations. Several observers consider that such a reform, if supported by other continental associations, could serve as a model for other sports and contribute to a balanced, representative, and inclusive international sports world. However, the proposal will face multiple challenges in its implementation. Despite its ambitions, the resolution must overcome several hurdles. Obviously, consensus must be reached with the other continental associations. It will also require negotiation with the World Athletics Council, which may fear a loss of influence for certain continents. Finally, the regulatory texts must be adopted within a timetable compatible with the desired institutional evolution. Carried by the spirit of Abeokuta, the CAA’s proposal could well usher in a new era for athletics. It reaffirms the legitimacy of emerging continents and raises the fundamental question of fairness in international sport. Time will tell if this reform ambition will resonate globally and lead to a profound transformation in the governance of World Athletics.

What really is conviction? 12867

Some human, 4 mon.
- Society - Poetry - Philosophy -
1.2 min read.
If you can tell for sure that whatever you want to have in your future would really belong to you, then you actually don't have a future; you are just navigating through time. It is important that we appreciate that the great people the world celebrates were never so certain that they will achieve the things they have. Yes, there were moments when they believed they would do great things, and then there were those singular moments when they actually realized that they were meant for great things. But never were there moments before such moments of the euphoria of the culmination of their deeds were they ever so sure of the prospects of the future. This is therefore the human condition. The one that makes life worth living. The one whereforth springs the meanings of all purpose. Notice the keyword here is to believe! In every step of the way, great people tread the paths of belief. An identity, an appreciation of a life that could potentially be worth nothing, be meaningless and result in total complete waste. Yet, they walk that path anyway. They walk these paths also quietly aware of the rewards of their deeds. To quote a book, "it is in times when we succeed, when things seem to be working in our favor, and our egos expand like a pufferfish, that we are most easily blind-sided and in danger of the greatest fall. It can be a cycle for many of us, until we learn how to break it, how to be unaffected by either success or failure, and just keep moving forward, towards our goals" That is conviction! "When I close my eyes, I see a thing. I did this thing. I made this thing. It is so beautiful. and powerful. and everyone loves it. everyone says this is really a great thing! everyone agrees that this is going to change their lives for the better forever. I smile because I imagined this thing, and I did it, and it was beautiful in every aspect. It did it's job just like I wanted it to and I fulfilled my purpose."

Being Doctors 12869

Boucharfou, 4 mon.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.3 min read.
Being a doctor...in my generation! Medicine was an art practiced without flaw by a rare horde of people dedicated to their lauded work, who often remained stuck in the hospital to be that lifeline of oxygen and life. We remained clear-headed. We weren't greedy at all. Our medicine, whatever anyone said, and in all honesty, brought honor and happiness. It was our reason for being. Without it, we would be nothing but poor people, ultimately given over to doubt. Dr. Fouad Bouchareb All rights reserved

Moving away from me 9872

Boucharfou, 5 mon.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.5 min read.
By leaving me you exhausted me, and it's cruel Have mercy on me my beautiful You fucked up my passion But one day you'll find your sanity You cross me carelessly Me who loves you and that's all the difference They were beautiful our lovers' kisses If you don't remember them Ask your lips They are still in fever Our bonds were so strong So much so that when our blood squirts We don't know if it's yours or mine Ask the night why these stars despite their splendor And their glow Are not worth that of your smile O moon, if you accompany me in my loneliness ………and if one day I agonize in the meanders of space Tell the darkness that the martyr of love is dead........ and sprinkle stardust on my shroud Dr Fouad Bouchareb Inspired by Farid Al Atrache's song > https://youtu.be/57Xezl_YR6c?si=JVP_kEQZCY8rZbNF All rights reserved

Infernal passion 6776

Boucharfou, 5 mon.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.7 min read.
Fire of passion To the one whose fire of passion burns me How to win your heart, tell me I remain lost and confused and I have no choice I gaze at the stars and lose sleep Yet you promised me the earth and the stars And you swore that like a branch you would resist the wind And that you would hold firm But at the first breath you bent And you shied away at the risk of breaking everything Long gone are the days of your promises Of joys and gladness Your indifference is morbid It kills me and drains me You walked away after a fleeting romance Yet it is neither your habit nor your style It was then that I understood that you were gone for good And I sat down and gave myself over to the wind Mourning your departure The night then How late it is I put on mourning clothes And wept, overcoming my pride I will complain to the judge of passion And denounce your schemes and your ways Only he will know how to do me justice And repair your wrongs So you will feel what I feel And you will burn just like me by the fire of passion Dr. Fouad Bouchareb All rights reserved Inspired by a mawal of Andalusian music January 1, 2025

The flower of my dreams 6896

Boucharfou, 5 mon.
- Music - Poetry - Romance -
0.4 min read.
The flower of my dreams Oh ! Flower of my dreams grown in my heart And that they took me away Wrongly, what a horror!! hands have crumpled it cruelly Yet her beauty dazzled the eyes A gift from the God of heaven She bewitched young and old Now the fire of my passion has gone out My heart lies empty and bruised I sacrificed my life I lost the rhythm of my melodies And like a bird perched on a branch I dare sing to my faded, to my rose Poetry and prose Hoping to see her resurrected And regain its former splendor Thus dreams hopes will be reborn She will shine with her beauty And will be the star of my bouquet Inspired by the song of Farid Al Atrache (يا زهرة في خيالي) Dr Fouad Bouchareb July 19, 2022 All rights reserved

Pigeon 7107

Boucharfou, 5 mon.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.5 min read.
I saw a pigeon in the valley who was crying in sorrow and called in vain his lover who left him this morning He repeated to anyone who would listen to him how much his heart although tender feels now emptied of love after this departure that left him as dead He lost the joy of living and love in turn He finds this journey through the desert quite long and no one is there to keep him company It’s obvious he misses her and it’s quite clear And sinks into sadness and melancholy Even with time it is impossible for him to forget the one he nevertheless loved madly In love, his heart is well bruised and does not help him overcome so much spite And even if his appearance seems royal His state of mind is so pitiable Translated by Dr Bouchareb Fouad October 19, 2022 All rights reserved

To all women I live ❤️ 7308

Boucharfou, 5 mon.
- Poetry - Philosophy - Romance -
0.4 min read.
To all the women I love Great and sublime celebration that makes my head spin For great ladies We love all these women who stand up to us for much greater equality of friendship and fraternity What would we be without these beautiful creatures! Gift from heaven, jewels of nature? With hearts completely made of gold Avoiding harming us Full of love and passion Pride of the entire nation. These grandmothers we adore These mothers we love These aunts we cherish These wives we adore These sisters we protect These colleagues we rub shoulders with For the love we share So happy birthday, ladies Open your sesame to us Because without us men And despite all our faults Our presence with you Is not superfluous Far from it… Dr. Bouchareb Fouad All right are reserved

The Garonne 7017

Boucharfou, 5 mon.
- Poetry - Romance - Fantasy -
0.2 min read.
The Garonne On the Pont Saint Pierre I contemplate the Garonne Majestic as always Its waters flow And purr slowly As if by magic to say hello to me On the Pont Saint Pierre The Hôtel-Dieu Saint-Jacques rises like a crack Nostalgic for medicine of alchemy and penicillin On the Pont Saint Pierre I walk humming a chance at love waiting for nightfall And watching the day slip away Dr. Bouchareb Fouad Toulouse, October 5, 2022 and May 31, 2025 All rights reserved

Blind love 6983

Boucharfou, 5 mon.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.5 min read.
Blind love To the one who looks at me and pretends not to see me While she is the source of my sorrows and setbacks Yet she confesses to others that she loves me who believes Leaning on her balcony every evening She doesn't care that I always be there at my perch Waiting for a signal from her, a hope To the one who looks at me and pretends not to see me While she is the source of my sorrows and my setbacks In spite I keep drinking And drinking get drunk every night Sitting in front of her window on the sidewalk To the one who looks at me and pretends not to see me While she is the source of my sorrows and my disappointments I say that this story is over now And that elsewhere I will go to see Dr Bouchareb Fouad July 5, 2022 Inspired by a piece of Andalusian music All rights are reserved

Blind love 7322

Boucharfou, 6 mon.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.5 min read.
Blind love To the one who looks at me and pretends not to see me While she is the source of my sorrows and setbacks Yet she confesses to others that she loves me who believes Leaning on her balcony every evening She doesn't care that I always be there at my perch Waiting for a signal from her, a hope To the one who looks at me and pretends not to see me While she is the source of my sorrows and my setbacks In spite I keep drinking And drinking get drunk every night Sitting in front of her window on the sidewalk To the one who looks at me and pretends not to see me While she is the source of my sorrows and my disappointments I say that this story is over now And that elsewhere I will go to see Dr Bouchareb Fouad July 5, 2022 Inspired by a piece of Andalusian music All rights reserved