Oh, my dear father, oh, my dear father...
In the name of God, we begin... with the intention of the one who is pure.
In "Bab Targhant" lies his story... a noble and imaginary one.
In "Jinan Maryam" he dwells... and his heart holds the Soussian hardship.
Kamal, oh Kamal... oh son of the exalted Taroudant.
Oh, you who opened the "Library of the Almohads"... with letters and words.
You have the book as a scale... illuminating the darkness.
A hand turns the pages... and an eye reads the wisdom.
And between the lines you designed... art with "graphics" and determination.
The pen is obedient in your hand... and the service is perfected and impactful.
You have read the languages of the world... eight in full.
You decipher symbols and converse... and roam in every field.
And you added the colloquial dialect as an adornment... and the Shilha is the crown of men.
A writer and a professional... and your mind is a sea without mountains.
In the "battalion" and the operation... you are the knight and the rider.
A lover of "Taghmi" and "Sintir"... and privy to the secret of "Al-Muluk" (the kings)
The kanbari (a type of drum) in your heart resonates... and clears our doubts
Your effort in "Taknawit" (a type of drum)... is knowledge, not just talk and doubts
And when you step onto the field... you enchant with your football skills
An artist in the dribbling... and a goal scorer in the net, they love you.
O present observer... Kamal is a beacon in "Taroudant"
Between "Bab Targhant" (a gate in Targhant) and the books... you have earned the sweetest trade
Parental approval and love... are the foundation and the beacon
May God protect you, Kamal... from every evil eye and harm.
