Niamat Elhamri (Poem)
Moderator 
NIAMAT ELHAMRI – MOROCCO
A Moroccan writer and poet, she serves as Editor-in-Chief of Asad Magazine for Children and Deputy Editor-in-Chief of Barcelona Literary Magazine. She is the Secretary-General of the World Writers Union, a member of the Arab Writers Union and the Arab Union for Culture, and an ambassador for the International Federation of Arts and Letters. She was selected among the 100 most prominent literary and artistic figures of 2024 by the Egyptian newspaper Al-Rowwad News.
She has published several works and has participated in more than 20 international anthologies. Her texts have been published worldwide. Her works have also been translated into English, Italian, Spanish, Korean, Albanian, Hindi, Bengali, Turkish, and Chinese.
SHE
A lover’s spark within the eyes,
A truth exchanged ‘neath honest skies.
A scented card, a blooming grace,
A thankful smile in warm embrace.
She’s the scent of a quaint old place,
A tickled heart, a child’s bold face.
A giggle loud, a fearless cheer,
A light that makes the darkness clear.
She is delight…
A peaceful soul in restful night,
The close of day with burdens light,
A heart content, in purest flight.
She’s the rarest gem to find…
Not in palaces refined,
Nor in joy that’s undefined,
Not in wealth or voice so grand,
But in peace, at love’s command.
She lives in us when we are true,
She’s your warm hand when words break through,
And when you write her in a line…
She is the poem. She is the sign.
THE HEART’S TENDON
O mother, O heartbeat of soul and mind,
O warmth of my days, spring of love so kind,
I love you as earth loves the gentle rain,
As birds adore their nest on branches twined.
When I hear you, my heart finds peace again,
Your voice at night dissolves all grief and pain,
Your laugh is balm for time’s unhealed sore,
Your hug, a scent through Eden’s sweet domain.
I fear farewell, like Marcel’s song of yore,
For bread, for coffee, dreams we can’t restore.
O pang of parting if we drift apart,
When warmth’s a ghost, and hearts can bear no more.
I dread your loss like Marcel’s mournful art,
Who sang of bread, of coffee, of the heart.
O wound of distance ! How could I survive ?
When warmth’s a memory, and love’s a smart.
I live but for you, light by which I thrive,
No bliss but pleasing you can life derive.
Your prayers in my chest hum faith so true,
My steps walk paths your virtues keep alive.
In verse I wrote you, melody in rhyme,
Your name engraved in walls of heart sublime.
If poets sing of love, you are my theme,
You’re the heart’s tendon, musk, and scent divine.
I KNOW NO EXISTENCE BUT YOURS
I know no existence but yours, my guide,
And nothing else has occupied my mind, how blind!
For this, I confess, I’ve been unjust,
Yet, for you, my heart does solely trust.
I’ve sought no other, nor played a part,
For always, you’ve been closest to my heart.
A child of your love, am I
You taught me how to adore, to sigh.
You fed me the bread of passion's feast,
Drowned me in oceans of love, released.
You lifted me high, away from the throng,
In your embrace, I’ve found where I belong.
How many fought to win my hand,
Yet gained no more than shadows’ strands.
For you, the knight of every maiden’s dream,
Destined for me, as heaven’s golden gleam.
I loved you not for love alone,
But for the air your love has shown.
For I am the child of your devotion,
Unwavering, steadfast, a boundless ocean.
You nourished me with loyalty’s grace,
A fragrant drink from your flowers' embrace.
Truly, my love is yours to keep,
For in my heart, your roots run deep.
And all the world shall surely know,
To another’s love, I cannot go.
To another’s love, I cannot go.
You are the finest gift from above,
And I, a grace, sent for your love.
