Jaded men linger
In toil while others
Sit in their manors
Sipping fine wines,
And smacking their
Lips in utter delight;
The con of man.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
Memories nag at me
Like some pebble stuck
In my left shoe that I
Cannot just get rid of;
It keeps on poking at
The heel of my mind
And I twist and turn
In hopes of some
Sort of relief but
The memories
Merely rattle
In there with
Annoying
Consistency
That could only
Be compared to
That child you see
At the supermarket
Clinging tightly to his
Sad mum as she walks
Around making sure she
Buys the things they really
Need or else daddy won't
Like it one bit, but that
Child clings on and
Screams for dear
Life and I shake
My head and
The pebble
Rattles
On.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC
TV blaring,
Though not loud enough
to cover that persistent barking
of those who have nothing to do
but gargle on their shishas and
speak nonsense for extended
periods of time while the world
watches in an intense wait that
could only be compared to that
yearning sensation children feel
as they wait for the ice-cream
cart that never comes but is
now face down in some ditch,
with those delicious treats melting
away like the dreams of those who sit,
and do nothing more than sit in the streets
of the city that wouldn't sleep, as their wives,
also sitting, watch TV with the lights dim,
wearing those red nightgowns that once fit so nicely,
now split at the seams and properly deteriorated
from all these nights they have been worn in hopes that they would move something,
anything at all in the hearts
of their husbands, but soon
the wives realize that their
is no hope, so they linger,
dumb-faced, in front of
their living room televisions,
blaring with lies and much
nonsense equivalent to
those told by the men
who are still sitting
there clutching
those tubes with
smoke wafting out
of their clogged
up noses.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
Bite the bullet.
A muddy boot,
A ****** boot
In the pimpled
Face of Some kid;
The barking
Goes on.
And they ask
Why I do not
Care, and I
Just shrug;
The barking
Goes on.
Hunger in the
Streets and in
Their media-
Rotted minds;
The barking
Goes on.
Faces split at
The seams, eyes
Peering At the
Scenes and I wonder;
The barking
Goes on.
The youth they
Snort and cuss
And the joints
Are passed around;
The barking
Goes on.
Birdshot in a
Brother's eye,
A blind dove
***** its wings;
The barking
Goes on.
And they ask
Why I do not
Cry, and I
Just shrug;
The barking
Goes on.
The poor get
Even poorer as the
Man on television
Shouts and moans;
The barking
Goes on.
Droopy eyes lost
Their spark as the
Fire dies and we
Linger in the dark;
The barking
Goes on.
A youngster jailed
For a bag of hash,
As an old man rubs
A girl half his age;
The barking
Goes on.
And I bite the bullet,
And I bite the bullet
And hail the beard
And hail the stars;
And the barking
Goes on!
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 3:36 PM UTC
Lightning lashes
At the night sky,
Splitting clouds
Over this unholy
City of ancient gods,
And I peer at the
Ashing remains
Of civilisation
Once mighty,
Now can be
Summed up
In a yelp
And a
Groan.
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC
And on the
Shelves of
Time, I have
Seen dreams
standing side
By side with
Wrinkled backs
Like books
Collecting
Dust;
Stories,
Untold.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 8:06 AM UTC
It was a beautiful night,
Which is rare in this city.
A full moon illuminated
The dark sky with great
Brilliance like a devine
Light bulb hanging over
The earth from heaven.
Not a single star out,
But that wasn't new
For big old Cairo.
A light breeze blew
By as I stood in the
Balcony of my family's
5th floor apartment
With winter's shy
Fingertips touching
The air around me.
I took a deep lung-full
Of this beautiful weather
And coughed like an
Eighty year old man
Suffering form mean
Tuberculosis.
The burning of the
Rice hay, they say.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 5:03 AM UTC
Some memories
Tap-tap-tap
At my brain
Like a bird
Hammering
With its beak;
**** on my
Window sill.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC
A pale homemade dress hung to dry in the blazing sun;
It's original color not quite clear but presumably purple.
That stain that never faded, a spot of innocence...
I closed my eyes and remembered the night she wore it,
Childlike with that smile of hers.
He threw promises of love and eternal bliss;
She believed his words and followed him to the train-yard.
An invisible moon hovered over them as they entered
An old rusted cart, abandoned for years and years.
He didn't bother taking her dress off,
She couldn't wait to feel loved.
Right there beneath a dark sky, a man stole a girl's innocence.
But how can love find it's way through the Cairo Slums?
Where human lay on top of another, like cracked bricks;
They bleed.
A grayish sleeveless undershirt hung to dry in the blazing sun,
It's original color not quite clear but presumably white.
That rip that was never mended, a tear of hope...
I closed my eyes and remembered that morning he wore it,
As he maneuvered through downtown traffic
Trying to make easy money, as ordered by his jobless father.
A child of seven or eight running around with beads of
Sweat rolling down his tiny face.
Mr. Policeman grabbed him by his shirt, slapped him around,
Beat him to the ground for approaching Mrs. Businesswoman in
Her air-conditioned car.
But how can this child find hope for the future in the Cairo Slums?
Where human lay on top of another, like cracked bricks;
They bleed.
Let me take you down to the Cairo Slums,
Where people are animals in their nests
Of carton-paper, waiting for the big bad wolf,
To huff and to puff and to blow their lives away.
But soon you'll realize that evil's not born but raised,
That hate is brewed, and money is everything.
Let us disregard this urban jungle under a glass jar,
Let us use them for advertising or marketing our products,
Products they could never afford.
O' what irony, what strife.
The girl and the child never had a chance,
but they deserve one.
They bleed.
They bleed.
So without further a adieu,
Welcome to the Cairo Slums.
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 12:21 PM UTC
And so the children danced by the seashore
At the break of dawn with
The sun not quite up,
But its radiance illuminating
The sky in a breath-taking
Blueish hue, that one could not
Distinguish from the tone of the
Infinite sea beyond the horizon.
They held each other's tiny hands,
Soft, for they were never
Exposed to the hardships of life.
Tender as silk with hopes and
Dreams of a brighter day.
The children jumped from puddle to puddle,
Splashing around the residue of yesterday's rain.
One girl with golden curls and a long
Sleeveless red dress danced around
In circles, stomping her feet in the water,
Her laugh sounding more like a squeak.
One boy with short brown hair and
Nothing but his underpants on
Leapt in the air arching his back
Wearing a glee-filled smile twinkling on his face.
The children heard a noise echoing
From afar;
They turned their heads to the source
Of the sound, and saw a bird in the distant.
"One, two, three, four birds!"
The girl counted on her petite fingers.
"Five, six, seven, eight birds!"
The boy yelled, showing off.
The birds got closer, but the children
Only knew how to count till ten.
They looked up with eyes and mouths wide open
As the huge metal birds roared past
With their giant wings and blasting sound.
The children froze with their hands
On their ears watching curiously as the birds began
To drop dark objects, hundreds of them.
The objects hit the ground where
The children stood, blowing away
All hopes of a better day.
O' the age of innocence is long lost.
She could've been an artist;
He could've found a scientist,
But greed got in the way,
For the fate of these innocent children
Lay in the palm of some fool's hand.
But dry your eyes my love,
For our children will hold hands at
That same spot someday, one day.
They will dance and splash,
Laugh with joy for there is hope.
There is hope in the resurrection of
The age of innocence.
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 7:34 PM UTC