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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

In a sleepless dream,

I wandered through the abyss of my mind.

The traffic clustered streets spread like an epidemic

For miles and miles in every direction.

I wished I was dead.

I wished I was dead.


The cars honked. Honk! Honk!

That sound made me want to shriek,

How could I fall into a deep sleep

Amidst all that chaos, that madness.

I wished I was dead.

I wished I was dead.


I saw my dear ol' mother ingesting herself with a fix of insulin

As if she was a *****, all droopy eyed and sad.

But unlike a raging *****, she did not choose

To be enslaved by her incurable illness.

I wished I was dead.

I wished I was dead.


My father stood by the crossroad, old and weary,

Staring into my eyes that looked much like his,

With  sick thick smoke seeping out of his nostrils.

He held his chest with a wince, and fell to the ground.

I wished I was dead.

I wished I was dead.


Faces fell from a sky, unlike any other sky seen by mortal eyes,

A sky of gruesome yellow, and grotesque green.

These faces fell upon my head like rain,

Their naked eyes stared at me, judged me like they did before.

I wished I was dead.

I wished I was dead.


For at least these thoughts would finally perish when I am dead,

Relieving the world of their wickedness.

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.

I am,

Nothing more,

Nothing less.

This force is eating me up inside,

Pushing me deep down into an infinite trench.

They say beware of self pity, for it ***** the

Life right out of you, leaving you an empty

Shell of a man, lost and weary.

Am I sad?


I strive for attention,

I just cannot help it.

Every time you look away from me,

Every time you disregard me;

I die a little inside.

Let's do drugs and be happy,

Let's forget about our empty lives.

Maybe this is a call for help.

Am I sad?


I was too busy trying to

Collect friends and acquaintances,

Like one would collect souvenirs

From distant lands just to show them off.

Too busy that I lost the one person

That mattered the most.

She walked out because I was too selfish,

Leaving a deep well of emptiness in my soul.

Am I sad?


I lay through sleepless nights,

With thoughts falling like

Shattered bricks inside my head.

I dream of the day I would finally unleash,

The thunderstorm manifesting within me.

Contemplating the scars on my right arm,

The razor blade I held in my trembling hand,

And the blood that oozed from teeming wounds.

Am I sad?


Or am I just human?

And on the
Shelves of
Time, I have
Seen dreams
standing side
By side with
Wrinkled backs
Like books
Collecting
Dust;

Stories,
Untold.

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.

Some memories
Tap-tap-tap
At my brain
Like a bird
Hammering
With its beak;

**** on my
Window sill.