About Me

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Alexandria, Egypt
Yasser Kashef was born in 1989, in Alexandria. He is studying English linguistics and translation in Alexandria University. Being a son for an Alexandrian mother and an Asswani father grants him a flexible character that enables him to deal with various cultures and thoughts. He started to write Arabic poems at the age of eleven. In 2008, he wrote his first English poem “Death Life” and then followed it with more than 15 poems. He won the third place in Renaissance Group Poetry Competition for his poem “Schizophrenia” in 2010. Furthermore, his poem “Africa’s Son” bestowed him the first place in the same competition in 2011. He is interested in drawing, traveling, and photographing. Sugarcane is considered as his first short story. ..

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Thursday, December 22, 2011


♫ ♪ “That you are not alone for I am here with you
  Though you are far away
  I am here to stay…
  You are not alone”
♫ ♪

This part of Michael Jackson’s song accompanied me for many years. I kept listening to it, as it described my status perfectly. The company of solitude needed great sacrifice. You sacrifice the warm conversations and the peaceful gatherings. You have to stick to the cold walls of your room, closing the door well. Nothing is welcomed except silence. Nobody is with you but coldness. The only voices that you can hear
are Michael’s and my heavy breath.
Solitude is watching your pale face in a cold mirror for years, unshaved and bony. Solitude is to stare at a dead butterfly kept in an empty jar, watching it loses its colors day by day. Also, it is a large album of the photos of your dears and beloved ones; some of them are far away, others are dead.
Solitude is unwashed cups of coffee on a dusty table. It is a plethora of letters to the unknown. It is a bitter taste in the mouth, which nectars cannot heal. It is a glut of imaginary friends playing hide and seek. It is a welter of sleeping pills in your stomach. Solitude is insomnia, forlornness and a zillion tries to commit suicide. 

Saturday, December 3, 2011


Charming Venus is Libra's planet 
They are independent and harder than granite 
In the zodiac list Libra is number seven
They are sensitive like the butterflies of heaven 
They are friendly, funny, open minded and just 
They like blue color and knowing them is a must 

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Num Num Num

Num  num  num
Your hazel eyes are heaven
Your beauty makes my heart drum
Num  num  num
You have all the love
So give me some
Num  num  num
Your voice is the anthem of love
So let me hum
Num  num  num
You are the secret of eternity
My life with you will be plum
Num  num  num
Num  num  num

Tuesday, November 22, 2011


Rady started to hum some old songs when I was trying to push him to the shadowy side of the street. Would you please leave me in the sunny side? said Rady.
I was detained for more than ten years. I rarely saw the sun. Can you imagine African pharaoh lives without sun. Can a human being hide the sun from another just because he grew his beard or memorized some holy speech? Until now, I can.t find answers to my questions. Until now, I hide the truth, and you know what? Once you hide the truth, it.ll be your unbearable burden. I.m a detainee of fears, pain and silence. Sometimes I envy martyrs because I live spiritless the same as zombies. The damned regime succeeded to zombify us. I even fear to articulate the tyrant's name, as it causes me this throbbing shiver. And now you want to push me to the shadow?

(This is a part from my short story "Sugarcane Juice", the story which won the forth place in SEA OF WORDS competition 2011) 

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Living Memories I Relish

When nostalgia gnaws at my heart,
Reminding me with memories from the past
It surrounds my eyes with flashbacks,
Dogging my solitude when darkness attacks

I remember my wide fertile land.
Also its sticky chocolate,
And the sun that turned me tanned,
Laying on the dry green carpet.

There I wave for friends to come.
We whistle with birds when they hum.
We play among dense fields of sugarcane
Shaking a citrus tree to taste its rain

From scorching sun, we always flee,
Panting for an old shadowy tree
We goodbye the sun when it leaves the sky,
Watch it gives the blue curtain a colorful dye.

I remember an old man looks like a gnome.
His stories and quotes inside me are home.
Wrinkles seize his face from chin to forehead,
Granting him veneration and cheerfulness instead

His sonorous voice when he does pun
Kills my ignorance, saying: "Listen, son!
The pure heart that sorrow cleaves
Is more fragile than autumn leaves"

A bitter grief chokes my throat
Because I really do miss the boat
I cry drowning in my salty tears
The wizened man no more will punch my ears

I dry my tears with my sleeve.
In a new sun of optimism, I believe.
Yet the return of the smile tastes sweet.
Still, the muddy land waits for my bare feet.

Saturday, November 12, 2011


    I started to move to the sycamore tree. I passed through the tropical plants of roselle. I picked up one of its flowers. It looked like a jester's hat. Its color was crimson, the same as a cloudy sky after sunset. It had the same texture of velvet, or it was near to the transparent wings of fairies. I stopped by the old gigantic tree, watching its elaborate branches and its raw sycamore fruits. We used to flee from the scorching sun, hiding our tanned skins in the shadowy zone. There, we witnessed the daily birth of sun. We watched the moon's waning and waxing. We drew our dreams with colors of our own imagination. The train of memories filled my eyes with tears. I wept my tearful eyes with my dyed-with-roselle hands, and swallowed the bitter taste of nostalgia. 

Tuesday, September 20, 2011


Chocolate is the sweet brown bar that melts in our mouths and its fat remains on the lips. The tongue always searches for it everywhere inside the mouth. When you savor it, you feel its superb delicious hotness that grants you mirth and diminishes your gloom. You may eat it with nuts, coconut or biscuit, but chocolate flavor is always unique. It reveals our childishness in every time we lick our fingers after eating it.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Africa's Son

O old Africa, look at your son!
His features are engraved by the sun
He is wiry like pine saplings
Free like the air that carries the wings
He sleeps inside a canvas tent
Which is patched and spent
His wide eyes gaze at a star
He captures a butterfly with a jar
His tongue, with amaze, is numb
Hearing raindrops when they drum
His feet are dwindled by the hot sand
Sticky mud roughens his curious hand
With his saliva, he draws on a wall
With darning socks, he plays football
His favorite movie is a blue sky free of clouds
His popular music is chirps and wild sounds
He ruminates the ripples on the river
That quenches the brown continent forever
Among tropical plants, he always weaves
Escaping from a storm that juggles the leaves
He fights poverty, illness and spells
By singing anthems on deserted wells
He goes to a mountain that he must climb
To get some herbs and a sack of lime
There, he meets a clairvoyant to read his palm
He tells him a fortune that is better than balm
"Success and luck will be always at your side
With your achievements, you will be Africa's pride"

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

The Woman's Day

Let us set "The woman's day"
And ask the sky to rain beer
And make the sun sheds every ray
On women to raise them clear
The woman is an angel on earth
A really sensitive creature
Very beautiful from her birth
And that is her nature
When she has the power
She can play with your emotion
Her temper changes in every hour
Maybe a look shows you her explosion
After this day ...
I will gather women in one place
And I will close it well
I will put gas in every space
And burn them to go to hell

Hmmm..Maybe I cry for two minuts
Because I will be chased by their spirits

A Friend

If your friend is natural and kind, you have to be glad. If your friend is brainy and sensitive, you must be lucky. If your friend has a wonderful spirit wrapped with delicate features, you have to thank God. If your friend has all of this and a unique talent, then you have all the rights to dance madly.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Do you want to play a fair game with life?

                         Create a good team with your abilities

_Be a goalkeeper; keep your mind clean from depression attacks.
_Be a strong defender; defend your principles and opinions. Cover your problems shoulder to shoulder and do not let them in.
_Be a center midfielder; link causes with effects. Learn from the past and make experience back you, as you will approach facing life.
_Be a cunning playmaker; pave your pace through life. Create your opportunities and do not wait for them.
_Be a brilliant striker; take the opportunities and score your goals in life. Lead your dreams to be achieved.
_Your strategy must contain offside trap to deceive your bad memories and put them in offside position.
_Counterattack should be one of your tactics to respond against life’s attacks. Turn its stress and toughness to be a motive to make you move forward.

By this strategy, you may beat life and gain victory. 

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

The Apple

The worm seizes the apple ,though it is green.
The worm is eating for norishment.
It keeps eating and biting to make the inside clean.
The apple is empty....no comment.
The tree will lose its life and the leaves soon,
But without the apple ,the tree is useless.
Storms take leaves ,not giving hope nor boon,
announcing for silence,autumn and death.
Oh,dear Merciful Lord ,help us see: 

That with out the apple ,there is no tree! 

Friday, August 19, 2011


Birds come to land on my shoulders
Tickling me with their legs
I protect them when it comes colder
They use my straw to lay eggs
They love my earthy smell
Also my eerie silence
But they do not know
That this is my own hell
Still they do not know ...
That the straw under my hat
Always likes to move
But i do not have a tongue to chat
They do not have a mind to prove
The sky with its birds,sun and moon
The land with its plant and worms
All of them and i .sing the same tone
Enjoying the wind when it shakes my arms
If you visit green lands
You may notice me
On one leg raising two hands
I stand alone as an old tree
It is me ,the scarecrow
Half false and half true .
When i was enchanted to a vampire,
I sucked people fears and sadness.
I was successful .I was a house on fire,
Dazzling them with my braininess and madness.
They norished me with their magical quotes,
And their moony smiles light my red eyes.
I flew among their various thoughts,
And their innocent nature makes me realize:
That they are more senstive than my pale skin,
And losing them is a great damned sin.
So soon ,sleeping in coffins will end.
Forever, I will lie in a heart of a friend.
Some sane day, not too bright and not too stormy,
Not wood nor cross,but losing a buddy may kill me !
When people meet me they may confuse
The Vampire with The Scarecrow so it is hard to choose
Hence ,they say that i suffer from "Schizophrenia"
But i reply :Hey people !it is "camouflage mania" .

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

The Sun

The white horse took the sun on its back,
And the blue sky gradually became black.
The horse threw the red sun in its dark prison,
where sky and sea are touched by the horizon.
You cannot enjoy rain without mud.
You know day with its golden hot sphere.
The old tree one day was a bud,
And without sun it was hard to appear.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

A Question Mark

Lots of people die
Beyond every “why”
Lots of doors are shut
Beyond every” what”
Lots of things lost there
Beyond every “where “
Lots of crimes are hidden in den
Beyond every “who” and “when”
Lots of blinds go in tow
Beyond every “how “
And there is a line between the light and the dark
Beyond every big fat question mark


Accept me with my tanned skin
Accept me with every sin
Accept my teeth deformity
Or reject me without pity

A Kiss

There is nothing better than kissing a child's cheek, even if it is covered with chocolate.
There is nothing better than kissing a mother's forehead, even if it smells onion.
There is nothing better than kissing a father's hand, even if it is drowned in sweat.
And nothing is better than kissing the land of your home, even if it is dusty.

A Pure Princess

You can see the heavens in her eyes blue,
Shining with innocence silvery hue.
Her spirit is transparent like wings of a fairy,
And her imagination is a fruitful tree of berry.
Her heart is a cradle for love and mercy,
And her words turn your life to be fancy.
Of evil and negatives,she has a dearth,
As if she is an utopian angel on Earth.
She is willful,like free wild unicorns.
An atractive rose with brilliant thorns;
A sun of a galaxy between unimportant dark moons;
The daughter of Mercury and one of God's boons;
A pure princess wears a crown and a dress in white;
Meet her for a minute and your future will be bright.

In My Story

Love or hate ,my feelings are lost,
But i know that you are not the most
Beautiful thing in my life
Or the cause of being alive.
Yeah,in my story:
I thought that you were an angel
Sorry,i saw you from the wrong angle.
In my story:
My kingdom is fine with out princess
Without deals,oths without promises.
In my story:
No more tricks ,no more lies
I freed my soul from your eyes.
In my story:
Your curse harmed my heart.
It killed my dream before its start.
In my story:
The stars are :my soul,my heart and my mind
And i played the role of a blind.
When you read my story,
Becareful of the word suffer,
And forget that i was your lover.
That is the story....


When you are pleased by God, you will find his blessings in a smile on a loyal friend's face . You will be wreathed in mirth through cheerful people words . Your wounds will be healed by a stranger who will be an essential part in your life .

Non Of Us

I will beat the demon as usual .I will not let him trick me any more even if his mask is religious. I will not pretend sins to be called love. I will live only for my innocent pure friends and I will burden their problems. I will turn my back to all selfish people even if the others see me guilty or heartless. I obey God and I will, because He is only The All Merciful, but non of us.

Monday, August 15, 2011


I killed the child inside with my hands
I buried my memories beneath sands
But the sorrow tree appears
Because it is nourished by my tears
I fling my burdens away with a thud
And without regret my heart becomes dud
I will weather life with my poker face
I will approach, forcing its pace
Listen life! Laziness motto is impossibility
But achieving the impossible is my ability
Life replies with its grating voice:
“It is your only damned choice”

Death Life

When you live in a can
You dream to be superman 
With a finger carry a van
Having money as you can 
Death life that you are 
Sleeping in rubbish or under a car 
Yet getting breath is too far 
Your day is hard and not nice 
Fighting for food with cats and mice
And the nothing for you is high price 
You really need a magic stick
Ti come from the deep to the deck 
People and police cut you like a butcher 
A thief or a murder will be your future 
But if you reach the proper way
You will live as a human everyday 
"God help you !",that is all what I can say.

The Zahir

In Gujarat, at the end of the eighteenth century, Zahir was a tiger; in Java a blind man in the Sukarta mosque who was stoned by the faithful; in Persia, an astrolabe that Nadir Shah ordered thrown into the sea; in the prisons of Mahdi, in 1892, a small compass, wrapped in a shred of cloth from a turban that Rudolf Karl von Slatin touched; in the synagogue of Cordoba, according to Zotenberg, a vein in the marble of one of the twelve hundred pillars; in the Jewish quarter of Tetuan, the bottom of a well.
Jorge Luis Borges
(quoted from Paulo Coelho's The Zahir)


The Apple is one of the most delicious fruits . When it is green, it has this strange sour taste that tickles the tongue. When it is yellow like marigold, it has that slight sweet flesh with a light peel. When it is red like love hearts, it melts in the mouth with that yummy taste which is wrapped by a hard peel that ticks when you bite it . The same as our hearts, experiences grant them this hard peel.

Colorful Wreath

Love is the soluble suger in the mouth. It is a frisky butterfly that flits from one heart to another. It is a bright dress of mirth. It is a silver moon in a dark sky. It is the chirps of dawn birds. It is the fresh breeze in summer nights. It is the scent of a colorful wreath.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Does Age Matter ?

We feel young when we are happy and we feel old when we are sad. Hence, age is just a meaningless number in our IDs. 


Women are butterflies, so do not try to put them in a jar or between an old book papers and do not harm their transparent wings, just make them stand peacefully on your palm and support them with flowers to fly around; because their hearts hold mercy,their faces share mirth and their feet tickle heaven .