I have lived in Egypt for three years. It has been a turbulent time, both for me and for the country. Shortly before leaving I sat on a hotel roof in Zamalek above the Nile reflecting on my departure. This poem emerged from these thoughts – a rag-bag of impressions, sadness, irritation and affection. It was written very quickly and I have left it more, or less, as scribbled. It’s an attempt to express something of how I feel about the country that has given me so much, and taken so much.
Like a lover, Egypt, you have broken my heart so many times
leaving
returning
leaving
returning
I ate your sand, your molakeya, your dates.
Your hot winds burned me.
I plunged your Red Sea
touched its coral gardens,
its brash neon fish,
watched stars sink into your deserts,
hid behind doors
when your people marched – one voice in chains,
caught hems on barbed wire nests,
walked with cats through silent curfews
around barriers up, your guns pointing.
In twilight’s pale, I watched your pigeons,
unfolding flocks, wheel home –
that place where love and grief is.
Heard your old gods calling
from their broken shrines.
“Kefayah, kefayah.”
lay in its arms
all night afloat,
dived its drinking dark.
You took me in.
Travelling south, the long roads,
scent of Africa- a perfumed bride
among the palms.
Heard your music in the reeds,
enchantment in the oud,
a woman chanting on a roof,
the squeal of brakes,
a timeless, tuneless adhan.
Walked unlit streets with my landless love.
Watched your dogs feast
on old falafel, chips and bones,
curl on car roofs,
bark: This is our place.
Our home. Coming and going
like prayers from a minaret.
Where else can we go?
Be First to Comment