Mohamed Ellaghafi - poem
Moderator 
NO HEALING FOR THIS ILLUSION
Here I burn,
pierced through
with feeling.
How strange,
these shells hanging in clusters,
fruit of infernal death.
I know
how many secrets
the sun of night
hides among the stars.
And I know
the moon and sea
are merely lovers’ lies.
I am the eternal fool
drunk
on his own wounds.
I do not blame silence
when it drives me
toward speech,
nor emptiness
when it gathers me
back into myself.
The places once here
have crossed through me
and gone.
There is no place now.
I am a refugee
inside my own exile,
my soul suspended
awaiting, something.
(Translated by Hassan Yarti)
