When the world is a tide of shadows long,
And every step feels heavy, wrong
There your voice, a steady bell,
Ringing clear through foggy hell.
No maps are drawn for paths so true,
No compass points except to you.
The anchor’s weight, the sail’s release
You are both my storm and peace.
Time may stretch or twist or fade,
But roots grow deep where trust is laid.
Not in stone, nor ink, nor sand,
But in the pulse of hand in hand.
THE : 24/06/2025 : By : Badr Alaoui Mrani .
Marrakech
the source is myself I write poetry I am a poetry lover .
