Aicha Bassry
Aicha Bassry, a Moroccan poet, novelist, and storyteller, has carved a luminous path across the global literary stage. Her work—rich with linguistic audacity and existential depth—transcends borders, weaving threads of Maghrebi heritage with universal human inquiry.
Award-Winning Alchemy
Bassry’s pen has garnered acclaim for its fearless exploration of identity, desire, and memory:
Bassry’s works ripple across languages, translated into English, French, Spanish, Italian, and Turkish. Her voice resonates at major cultural crossroads—from the Frankfurt Book Fair to Mediterranean literary festivals—where she champions the power of narrative to dismantle silences.
Translated by Dr.Salwa Gouda
Dr Salwa Gouda is an accomplished Egyptian literary translator, critic, and academic affiliated with the English Language and Literature Department at Ain Shams University. Holding a PhD in English literature and criticism, Dr. Gouda pursued her education at both Ain Shams University and California State University, San Bernardino. She has authored several academic works, including Lectures in English Poetry and Introduction to Modern Literary Criticism, among others. Dr. Gouda also played a significant role in translating The Arab Encyclopedia for Pioneers, a comprehensive project featuring poets, philosophers, historians, and literary figures, conducted under the auspices of UNESCO. Recently, her poetry translations have been featured in a poetry anthology published by Alien Buddha Press in Arizona, USA. Her work has also appeared in numerous international literary magazines, further solidifying her contributions to the field of literary translation and criticism.
The way back is zero distance
Where are you going now
And your feet have been torn by roads of no return?
To whom will you raise your head in supplication
As the sky is fragmented into mirrors that do not reflect anyone’s soul?
To whom do you extend your drowned hand?
The sea took its ships and migrated
To die, there
Lonely
On the other side of the world
And the river left the city without permission
Who are you waving to?
The farewell napkins are heavy with the blood of the martyrs
Blood that draws a map that is not yet complete
And Joseph is still in the pit
Waiting for the caravan of strange Bedouins to cross
And you are still standing here like a palm tree
Carrying the rock of Sisyphus
Disturbing the graves of enemies
Ashaming their stinky souls
Just as they were alive guarding your bag with its seven exiles
Watching your hasty steps toward return
And planting pointed stones in your path
I am still here
Because their grudges have turned you into a statue made of Diamond words
That haunt their collective grave
It reminds them of their lost wars
And that they are not and will never be anything else but
[Crossers in passing words] *.
