Moroccan Realities
Nocturnal creatures
Creep furtively
Through the rubbish
Seeking scraps
On which to be sustained.
Barren wasteland,
Heaps of rock,
Piles of soil,
Regaled with rubbish,
Awaiting sanitisation
Into a sterile future.
Arid flat plains
Of rocks and dust
Bedecked with pylons
Patched with clumps
Of weeds.
Police checks
And border stops,
Eroded mud walls
And highways.
Olive groves,
Conclaves
Of square houses,
Palm trees
And baking sun.
Dusty brown
With blue skies
Motorbikes on trails,
Flocks of sheep,
Minarets and headscarves,
Donkey standing patiently
In the parched glade,
Man sitting in the shade.
Opher 28.3.2019
Morocco was a place of strange contrasts. Out in the countryside, often green but usually dusty, it is a life like it has been for centuries – flocks of sheep with shepherds grazing on what looks like arid sand and rock. Then they get on a motorbike and head home.
In the cities it is a more modern life but with ancient overtones. There are barrows of fruit, beasts of burden, spices, olives and tat for tourists. But the cars and satellite dishes tell a slightly different story.