Global Poet : Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim

Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim | Thursday, 24 June 2021 | Print

Poet Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim of Tunisia

Poet Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim is a 44-year-old married woman. She is a doctor of medicine born in Tunisia and living in Tunis.
Having spent her entire childhood fighting various causes such as world famine, pollution, poor children, the future of the planet and animal welfare, Myriam began writing poems at the age of 14, sets to music by her musical friends’ group. The songs had a great impact as they talked about justice, freedom and peace. Her love for children, the underprivileged, the sick, and the rejected in society guided her steps to 12 long years of medicine, during which she devoted herself to her profession and helping others.
With a great professional conscience, she is involved in her work with love. During these years of service, she trained and taught a large number of students, instilling in them a passion for the profession, the nobility to help and relieve and above all, to give. Painting is also his passion after writing. She paints what she sees in her head and what she feels in her heart. Never reproductions of landscapes or objects.
“It is my soul that paints and chooses the colors for my brushes.” Poetry has continued to accompany her, and writings have multiplied, inspired by life, work, the human condition… all with the aim of spreading goodness, altruism and humanity. Myriam has been writing for many years and has received many recognitions for her poetry and creativity.

Poetry by Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim

THE REDHEADED GIRL

At sunset
Sitting under a tree
The redheaded girl writes
Blow the wind
It is spring
But in her heart
It is, perhaps, night.
Her words flow on the paper
She often writes in her notebook
Sweet or unhappy words?
The wind blows, the night falls
The redheaded girl continues to write
Words of love or sadness?
A breeze comes to offer her caresses…
In the moonlight, under the stars
She plays with words,
The wind plays with her hair,
Color of fire.
Suddenly, she stops
And looks at the nature that surrounds her,
On her face
A tender smile
What does she think?
Who would she be?
So delicate and mysterious…
Far away, he observes her
He never dares to approach her.
Alas, what sorrow! What suffering!
It is to love someone without being loved!

DYING FLAME

Happiness is fleeting,
It comes, it goes.
The light in your eyes,
Once, so brightly shone
Has dimmed to but a glow.
The remnants of an ember,
Nearly burned away to ash,
Of the fire I remember.
Our hearth has grown so cold,
The fire is nearly dead.
Yet, the flames still dance
And rage inside my head.
I still see them, though they’ve cooled.
I still feel your gentle warmth,
On these cold, winter nights
The fire still burns, deep inside my heart.
Happiness is fleeting,
It comes, it goes.
Yet the ember of our love
Still dimly glows.
It hasn’t died, completely,
It just needs a little tending.
The fire can be re-lit.
This doesn’t have to be an ending.
Our hearth has grown so cold,
But the warmth may still remain.
Our love can be reborn,
If we allow the flame to win.
Because the flame is still alive,
And thought it may be dim,
We just need to stoke the flames
And let our love begin, again.

YOUR NAME FROM PALESTINE

Of kites
And white balloons

I pray the sand to make them all
a warm and tender blanket
I ask the blue moon
to the myriads of stars to watch over them…
to the wind to sing their names
on all the continents…

There is only the road
and this country that does not want me
traveller without luggage

In the games of fortune
I have nevertheless won
the infinite time of waiting
of the beginning
of a beginning of tomorrow

Waiting is the place
where I reinvent myself
mutant-caboosed
to the wastelands of your lives