Perhaps the world no longer belongs to idealistic imaginary words, but to the silence of those who choose to look away. today, we see war on every screen, cities swallowed by flames, children buried in rubble, and the world, its nations, its leaders, they watch.
We write verses, fragile, fleeting, while missiles carve their own poetry in fire and blood. We hold our pens, but what use are words when screams drown them out? Once, we spoke of a world that had learned from its past,
But maybe we were just telling ourselves stories, and now, even the poets are running out of words.
with a little poetry
Palestine…… Remnants of Humanity, by Monsif Beroual, Morocco
Ink spills, carrying the last whispers of our fading grace,
pouring sorrow into verses, tracing the world’s reflection.
Poetry our only window, offered fleeting glimpses,
a fragile thread of hope woven into the silence.
Unspoken desires turned to whispers of peace,
as we dreamed we could mend a world
shattered by the greed of a single, ruthless bullet,
a bullet that stole our humanity forever.
Are we still alive as we scroll through these echoes of war?
Blood-stained screens, genocide laid bare,
children, silenced before their first dreams could bloom.
But it does not end with them;
it murders every voice, every breath,
stripping the universe of fleeting souls.
Earth no longer a home for hearts, but for missiles,
tearing through distance only to end a life
where love once lived.
Where is humanity beneath the weight of these horrors,
when the world’s wounds are framed in frozen images?
We try to weave their screams into poetry,
but our voices falter;
grief too great for sound.
We flee the shock, desperate to remain,
yet the earth has stolen all that was beautiful in us;
the most sacred thing, our humanity.
But do not be afraid. They are not lost.
They live, nourished in the gardens of Eden,
while we remain;
mere ghosts, wandering the ruins of a world
where the last remnants of humanity
have long turned to dust.
A Monologue-Poem for palestine, titled Remnats of Humanity, by the Moroccan Poet, Monsif Beroual (Blue), 04/04/2025
A reflection on love, existence, and the infinite mysteries of the universe.
Sometimes, the heart understands what eyes cannot fully capture.
Spiritual Perfection; or Transcendence
When Shakespeare spoke to his beloved, saying:
“Do not believe that there are stars in the sky illuminating our paths,
Do not believe that there is such a thing as a ‘sky’…
But believe, without doubt, in my love for you.”
Love is like a heart that beats,
Like Words pulsating with “the beauty of the soul” and “the purity of hearts,”
Words that float to form a message,
Striving to speak, interpret, and explain
To weave a language we could understand,
The beauty of the universe and its infinite mysteries.
When we see the magic of the cosmos with our hearts,
When we reflect on the tangible,
And turn a blind eye to the arrogance of human nature,
Let us, if only for a moment, contemplate the infinite colors of the universe,
Its beauty, its contradictions, its secrets…
It is a journey into the unknown,
Into the empire of the unknown,
Through which we strive to transcend the inevitability of sorrow and death,
To discover ourselves in this vast cosmos.
Smile, for the universe will remain your eternal home;
It will carry you despite your differences,
And you will forever remain part of its mysteries.
by: (Blue): the Ink of Love & Freedom
Monsif Beroual,
Morocco.
2025
