Zakia el Yamani was born on 26 February, 1990, in Fez. She lives in Casablanca.
Poetry is not a hobby for me but a style of life, translation of daily living, sentiments and perceptions. I found out that I can write and compose in the age of 13, my city FEZ allowed me to nourish this passion, Fez, the city of knowledge, spirituality, literature and poetry. It inspires me with its authenticity, its history, its monuments and its people. Its streets invite me to write stories in the form of poems and prose. Poetry was and still my precious escape to express my deep feelings and thoughts. I write about love, mother, humanity, war, peace, betrayal, women, childhood, friendship, sorrow and hope.
In the first time, I wrote without keeping my realizations, because the important thing was the ability to transform my feelings to concrete ideas and to relieve my soul, but after, I recognized that our poems will not have a value if they aren’t shared with others and through publications, we can develop ourselves due to people’s observations and reviews. Therefore, I decided to publish my compositions in Moroccan newspapers, to present them in events and in facebook page.
I participated in a lot of local events of poetry, like competition, praise for poets and I was invited to animate some artistic and educational manifestations, these performances allow me to develop my communicational and oral capacities and to perform with more suppleness and spontaneity.
My last participation in the international forum of young poetesses was deeply rich and wonderful. This experience gave me the chance to meet different people coming from different countries with different poetry background.
Actually, I am writing a novel about struggle in life in order to attend our dreams, our perpetual search of love, loyalty and sincerity in a materialistic and superficial word. My poems illustrate some social circumstances or personal thoughts. It takes the form of prose or free poetry with meter and rhytme.
NEAR THE CAFÉ
Wait for me near the cafe
or on the corner of the sidewalk
wait for me
as in autumn
wait for me i am on the verge of death
wait for me just a moment in that road
or do you think that your time is precious
or our love is just a meeting not loving
do not calculate the minute as the waiting out the fetus
do not wait me not in the heaven nor in the road
our alacrity was absent and the wind blew started
cut out the visa far of our noisy city
now i calculalte and combine the minutes then i leave quietly
i repaet do not wait me i abandoned the city of love
i hate the cafe and i lost the sidewalk light
when your waiting becomes non supported and ridiculous
your words became a past and a bouquet of flower withered and night immemorial
