Bellatrix Star

“The Silence and the Voice”

Before I turned fifteen, I was a girl like all the others, a child cradling dreams too vast for her small hands. I wanted to become an air hostess, a dentist, a teacher. I dreamed of building a shelter for the poor—offering them care that felt like home, a warmth they could claim as their own.

I watched TV shows and horror series, heard tales that sparked laughter and others that left echoes of sadness. I was a girl like all the others, but somehow different from every girl I knew.

I was silent. I think it was because of the way my father told me that the brain dries quickly—like clothes left under the burning sun—when you share your instant thoughts and questions.

Questions about the weather.
Why some people are tall, others of average height, and many others small.
Why some voices rise like thunder and others sink like whispers.

He silenced me, and so I became silent. And that was the turning point.

Until I turned fifteen, when I discovered something powerful and secret. I could speak words they couldn’t understand—words they couldn’t speak. I found a way to be alive again. The day I discovered I could speak poetry.

From then on, I sat before the television in my favorite spot, on my favorite chair, but this time I silenced the TV. I let my voice speak, mumble, and sway however it wanted. It stumbled at first, then grew bold.

I told myself I needed more words, more poems, more voices like mine. I reached for another poetry collection beyond Songs of Life by Abu El Kacem El Chabi. I needed to breathe again. To feel alive again. A part of me had to die for another to be born.

Whenever it felt like a tightening grip around my neck, I spoke poetry. I read poetry. It was the only way to release the pressure, the only way to find air.

Years later, they heard my voice—my words pouring from my room. I poured my soul into poetry. And he wondered aloud: “Does she ever speak?”

I heard him, but I never answered. Now, I can.

Yes, I can speak. But not in the way you understand.
Yes, I can speak. But I choose silence over words in your presence, and words over silence when I feel truly heard.
Yes, I can speak. But not to you. I speak to those who came before me—to Abu El Kacem El Chabi, Mahmoud Darwish, Nizar Qabbani, Fadwa Tuqan, Nazik Al Malaika.
Yes, I speak. But in your presence, I lose my voice, I lose my words, I lose my identity.

Now, I reclaim them. Through poetry, I breathe. Through poetry, I exist.

De mes 12 à mes 25 ans, j’ai toujours mis les besoins, les opinions, le plaisir et les décisions des autres avant les miens. Il y avait toujours quelque chose qui n’allait pas, je n’étais jamais pleinement heureuse. J’étais une « people pleaser », mais malgré tous mes efforts, ce n’était jamais assez. Puis un jour, j’ai compris : peu importe à quel point je suis “bonne”, je ne serai jamais assez bien pour certains. C’est ça, grandir : arriver à des conclusions avec le temps. Il m’a fallu plus d’une décennie pour réaliser cela.

À partir de mes 25 ans, j’ai décidé de me choisir moi : mes besoins, mes opinions, mon plaisir, mes décisions. Et je n’ai jamais été aussi heureuse.

La décision t’appartient entièrement : toi… ou eux.

From 12 to 25 yo, I've put everyone else's needs, opinions, pleasure, decisions prior to me. There was always something wrong, I wasn't entirely happy, I was a people pleaser however they were never pleased enough. And suddenly I realised no matter how good I am, I can never be good enough. And this what being a mature is all about. Coming to conclusions by fullness of time. How ever it took me more than a decade to realise this From 25 y.o I decided to choose me, my needs, opinions, pleasure and my decisions over any one and I've never been happier.
Decision is totally yours, whether you … or them.

Ouled Moussa City

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A Place Among the Pages – SILA 2024

For years, I have lived between the lines, weaving my soul into verses, letting poetry speak where I could not. And now, my words have found a home—not just in books, but in a space where stories breathe and voices come to life.

This year, I am honored to be part of The International Book Fair of SILA 2024, standing among storytellers, dreamers, and lovers of literature. SILA is more than just a gathering; it’s a place where ink meets hearts, where pages turn like seasons, where poetry lingers in the air.

To be here, to share this journey, is to witness words finding their way home. See you there, among the stories waiting to be told.