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Habiba Mohammedi

Habiba Mohammedi

National Secretary - Algeria
Nationality: Argelia
Email: habibamohamadi18@gmail.com


Habiba Mohammedi 

National Secretary - Algeria

-Habiba Mohammedi is a Lecturer. -professor at the University of Algiers( 02). -She is teaching "Philosophy of Art and Aesthetics". -She holds a PhD in Philosophy and Aesthetics,from Egypt. -She published several books of poetry and other intellectual work, the most famous of them: "The Kingdom and the Exile", "Time in the wilderness", "El Khelkhal", a book about  the famous poet "Nizar Kabbani" and others more. - Some of her works were translated into English, among them "Time of the wilderness"; and one of her last intellectual work was about "The relationship Between Poetry and Philosophy Throughout Thinking History: Nietzsche as a model". "Poetry’s Madness" and "The Desire of Wisdom". -She represented her country: Algeria, in several cultural and intellectual conferences and poetry festivals in the Arab world and other foreign countries. -Habiba was honored in Algeria and in many other Arab and foreign countries.  -Recently, she was honored in Cairo book fair in the Golden Jubilee session.on 2019. -She is a regular contributor for the Egyptian press in which she publishes a weekly column in "Al Masry Al Youm newspaper". -She has two books under publication: one on poetry and the other one is an intellectual work. -Ms Habiba is the representative of the "Babylon Festival of International Culture and Arts" in Algeria. -Habiba is the first Algerian poet to get a membership at "The Egyptian Writers Union". - She worked for many years at the Algerian Embassy in Cairo, where she played an effective role in strengthening the relationships between Algeria and Egypt, in cultural and information domains. -As a poet and academic, she has been able to present the Algerian voice to the Arab countries and to the world.


To write what you know
Is the peppermint
That recommends the love
Which your ink
Makes us drink.
I am no fire wood
But am consumed
By memories
Time slips by,
While the heart
Seeks nakedness in the light
If it was not for time
All hearts would be
: cemeteries
Time restores whatever happiness
Digs up
If it hadn’t be for desire
The cushions
Would not be hectic red
All the heart’s
The dead pass away
And the house is emptied
Of me
The steps of lovers get farther
But the heart holds on
To the remaining
In between the dead
And papers
I yearn for patience,
An New Years toy’s,
A kiss from my father
So that I may grow,
And something from you,
So that I do not die.
Why is that whenever
A stranger asked
About a home
He was guided to me
The house where our two shadows
I saw it yesterday
Raising its head
For the spiders to weave
Their desires.
Before the evening died
After me
I distributed my breasts
To the weary
I fed them with fruit purity,
I was not ready
For weeping this night
The vacancy did not make love
To me
But a whisper woven of
The silk of love
Lay in my innermost,
Keeping the heart company
Imparting security
To a banana
The fruit of the sage
On my shoulder
A burden of thought
Which only the sphinx
May carry
But we have been led down
By them,
When they unveiled
The secret
Of the stone.
I do not want to look at my
Face too often,
For the mirror has been taught
That undried images
Infect the eye
With pessimism
The air that fondles the nose
Is only recognized by the scent
Of alienation
And the mouth where brides
Of speech play
Is scorched by the truth
So why should I clean my shoes
And get ready to go out
When people are dark rooms?
The wide streets
Which I love
Though unfamiliar to them
My heart has betrayed
Looking for ampler
There’s a ringing
In my ears
Whenever desire screams
Like lovers voices
A return is not always
Passion – driven,
Why are my birds delighted
Whenever his telephone rings?
The memory takes the colours
Of all that pass through:
Black apples, made of wood,
A heart that takes shape
Like incense on a fire,
Passes alone in my sad sky
The water gushing from
The taps of waste,
No use of drinking it
For love is resigned
To turn into thirst
I am a country
Into which noone is admitted
Except from the roofs
Of words
Why are they wooing my spirit
Offering what it does
Everyone has two faces
But the spirit
Is not a third
In my remote room
I indite the memories
Of a dead leaf
In a dead wilderness
Being wooed by
But then the light has departed
To a faraway place
In a paper-sail.
Why is it that whenever memories
Pass along
We feel our eyes, wondering
Whether the wounds
Have gouged them out?
When I went in, I knew
That it was his place,
His silken shirt,
His prayer-rug,
Why then, when my heart said
Its prayers to him,
Did he abandon all his
Ordained duties?
Everyday I try
To wake up early,
So that the dream
May not be longer
Than me!
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