AbdelKadir Kechida







To my son an integral part of me


In the limbo woods land…

A hill is just no like any other hill,

Its animals is rocks and objects sponsored by the unknown,

Its golden sun is dusty and its silver moon is wanted by suspicions strange world…

The wind seemed stormy in recklessly way

Recovering the remains of the dead on the land,

Buried and buried others.

Each liver die? and Are all the dead can be emit life in herself again ??


Clinging on branches » that emitted »

« After that it was just a corpus moving on the trees. »

it is Lost- unfathomable- depths of the past

Clinging to power and clinging to life

at Sight of all:

did not fall … Resistant … turned into a cocoon

And no spring coming this year

one year has passed,

and the wind still to ravaging the earth

Clinging to power and clinging to life


settle down… did not hold …turned into a breeze

and Spring  impose  control over the nature as whole


which a wonderful soft object

thrown a Look toward the sun after he rip his dusty cocoon.

flew high …

Melted in the light…

As hunger in harvest time.







In the death



In the death…

the whole universe being integrate

Dissolved in the crucible of scare

In the universe of nothing.


In the death..

the whole mistakes being dismiss

living in the lost memory

In the forgettable real.


In the death

The life is resurrected in itself

Slipping inter wind in the desert

In the hidden house.

Oh.Ashtaar, oh goddess of death

I am die… Must to die with me.

Because the death is a goddess following to you.

An integral part of you


In the nostalgia

Whole the sick souls are being fight

Peculate looks into the throne of kingdom

And disappear in the universe of nothing


In the nostalgia

Whole teardrops are shake

Feeding on the cauterization memory

In the universe of sorrow

In the nostalgia

Whole the distance syncopated in itself

In the beauty of tender

in the childhood time.


Oh Ashtaar, oh goddess of the sad universe

Maybe the live warn to us about the windy month season..

The day of captain meeting with greatest meadow whale.

That day, i will be resurrected again..

As you too

Because I am an integral part of you







Solo Guitar 


You walk on my chords

Afraid, my dreams hunting me!?

You must to come back with birds

With Shown-disappear things in my memory

Snow…rain. Solo guitar


My guitar

O crazy reality

O watchful in night at the time of promiscuity

Oh marvel from the world of prisons


Pregnant as you are

With a sense of spring

Joy rider

With a ideas of Karl Marx


Sweep me away that’s tones.

In Refraction of summer

In the throes of autumn

On The time of winter


Killed me again that’s words

In the Lost tones

On the encrypted smile

In the custody of sacrifices lord

And the holy secret is belong to Splitters






Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny
On the anniversary of the death of German-American musician Kurt Weill


A blue planet in the darkness of the vast universe

Is multifaceted, his pieces is scattered

It seems like a pile of nothing.

In every two seconds, the light is consumed by its six aspects.

And   many confused images appear…

Lion and his Lioness in the Paradise of Mr. Kurt Weill

They are roasting a body on the fire, possibly the body of Mr. Kurt Weill

Without clothes, on the impact of loud music.

And a blue river under the dark sky

Where crocodiles lived and marginalized entities

They feeding on the residues carried by the wind.

A group of people feeding on burned corpses taken by hunger or perhaps retaliation to the limits of fighting among themselves.


all images are mixed up

And the scene is dark…..

I see my picture among the victims in first time and among the roast’s chopsticks at other times.

 I see my picture among the dead of the river of the dead, in the world of politics, which is full of complexity

My heart is carried by the wind … still alive,

Covered in doubt by a transparent mesentery lazurde.

I fall asleep to wake up…

I see my picture among the neighborhoods of hanan pacha,   in the image of Mama Killa

In the forgotten world of Atlas in presence the nymphs of the North Sea in the reclining of the king of the seas.

and the waves’ orchestra are playing the national peace of the New Mahagonny.







In the land of no comeback


Trust me, o adventurer

In the land of no comeback

There is no way for comeback

It is your duty to make the rosary of luck close to you

It does not work here, as well as Spells

The Spells to: « For the sake of love we seek, we will put all the forces in the face of the wind

In order to seek it as everyone did»


Trust me, o adventurer

In the land of no comeback

There is no way for comeback

Not even a way to in

Perhaps there is another way…

  You need a few…

  Wisdom and lot of intelligence

And a bit of: hear

I have heard the earth say to me one days: not fill the bag of greed only dirt»







Darkness and I


No any darkness can penetrate me

To the inside where I belong

I am and my lover and the light

 He is like me


There is no doubt among that…

 Light tunnel, the title of my life, my son and I.


No idleness can keep me away

About the world of longing where you belong

Me and you and also dust

No one can stop him:

Stock of light follows, my son and I.


No particles of light alone encourage me

To the world of patience where we belong

I and you and life enlighten the path of arrivals  

No one can understand you

  Secret possessions, my son and I



………….. 08/03/2017




Boat and room


No forgotten boat in the sea of seagulls

No Eyeglass up the eye without a unique vision

The arrivals

They have torn my heart

Dress me up with a wool and a turban

And the stick of the good’s master

They stripped me of my poor heart

They convinced me in the long run

In the absence of the good’s master


That I does not care about any things?

Only that wool.

And this is the turban

That I does not care about anyone?

No Sweetie.

No forgotten boat trip

What about my eyeglass of winter time?

How can I see, and night has brought darkness down?

Then convince me that

I am and my lover just one heart hanging…

In the room of the master of the universes.







Mass suffering


She wanted to fight everyone

To understand them that

She did not suffer as everyone did

Cut off his blood vessels

Her children were displaced

her bad luck was scarred

but she

Suffered as much as everyone else.








In commemoration of the announcement of the results of the wilaya recruitment contest.


Wait an hour a day to meet with the Missionary

He will give to you a thousand tips

Will save you a bad day

One dollar treatment better than a million protection

There is no protection in this forgotten world

Death only…

And self-control.








On the anniversary of the day of departure


The sadness is the birth of peace

Not in the memory of the indifferent

But in a beautiful world of forgiveness

I do not care about the example of folk

  If they find nostalgia

Between us and them a thousand birth and birth…

Here and there is where the path

We sail in the depths of the « sea of darkness »

  To the land of « everything is possible »

On the ship of « patience key survival »

I do not care about the example of folk

Having found « my new birth »

















Abdel Kadir Kechida, Algerian writer, translator born in M’sila (Algeria) in 1988, and received a degree in Communication and Information Sciences and two other college degree in Sociology (BA and MA) is in the process of obtaining a college degree graduate, he worked a reporter independently, and his research essays and literary contributions, to the distinctive cultural activities. Actual writing began two years ago and has since reaped the awards did not stop (Naji Naaman International Prize for literary and cultural 2014. Participation in world poetry Yearbook 2014 issued by IPTRC and accepted by the University of M’sila Prize for Literature, He also created many works as poem collections: « Autumn stormy» and « The Life of rain « , As Collections of short stories : » Cupboard  » and  » Speakers « .

Doting translation into Arabic, look for appreciation, against contempt, and agree with the encouragement, the glory for the Masters, and the life for youth. Now he lives in M’sila City.

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