Born in 1972.
Bachelor degree in Computer Sciences and Statistics, 1993.
Professor assistant for many years in the departments of Computer sciences, Mathematics and Statistics in both the College of Education and the College of Health Sciences in Abha, Saudi Arabia.
A Voiceover , Audio Narrator and Dubbing Actor.
Braids of Spirit (Poetry), Dar Al-Adham, Cairo, 2015.
I Pick Quarrels with the Horizon over a Violin (Poetry), Dar Al Ain, Cairo, 2017.
Third and Fourth books of poetry in progress
Many of her poems were translated into English, French, Spanish and Portuguese and published in several anthologies in those languages.
She also participated in many poetry and cultural local and International Festivals and events.
These jellyfish yawn after a night full of love and sleep.
Wake up when they got thrown by waves full of wine and fish.
The question seeps out of their tentacles.
Would bullet casings contain lipsticks?
Would the barrel of guns become lampposts?
Would the bombs turn into milk bottles?
Would the military suites be sewn to be ballet skirts?
Would the explosive belts be used as bandages and splints?
Napoleon, Macdoni and Hajaj crumple with viscosity above 3 lobsters.
Their clippers sway right and left:
Don't believe us, we are liars.
Translated by Suha Al Sebaei
I become a fetus
roll on myself like a ball
This remembering feeds me
I get high on the musk
Of the umbilical chord
The melded odours of my parents
I bask in my beginnings
My mother and I and I as one
As we orbit our universe
Now the clear water sits
On the sediment
My true self without mask or gayle
Free from algay and colours
I arise without myths and predictions
Free to become.
Translated by Suha Al Sebaei
I heard that a close-by poet crouched inside the mouth of death
I don’t know him
But the squeaking that smacked my nerve ends
Alerted me to the void around
Perhaps because death sensors in my imagination gleaming in all directions showed no mercy.
They were loading children, teenagers,beautiful women,
Paupers, vendors, old people, lovers, and gays for free
And dumping them into junk yards full of skulls, epitaphs, and skeletons
While cutting white surrender flags into shrouds, and silly coffins
A poet dies
That means the curve of the street corner will be sharper
That bullshit will pour out of the belly of indifference
That more holes and garbage will accumulate in the back street
That pine and oak trees will bend
That the executioner will increase the number of guillotines getting ready for the massacre
When the poet dies the wall on which jasmine sleeps
The maysaloon will wither, doves will cry
Seas will pour into rivers
Vine tree will yield raisins
And young maidens will awaken from love dreams
The poet overflows with love that exceeds life
Life can’t suffer him, so it mutilates itself.
A little while in the coffin,
And he’ll seep into the eye of the sun
After hiding it from the eye of death
And hiding death from death itself.
He’ll gather its light into balls that he’ll roll over the earth
So that others dance with butterflies on their way to death!
Translated by Nordddine Zouitni