PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Prelude
Walls climb the ivy
And Khartoum, poised on its unamputated foot
Singing
Will the Nile ever escape into sleep?
We were the most loving of lovers, children trickling from us
- What name do you give me?
- I call you Presence of Earth
Come closer then
- What will be the taste of grief?
- …………………..
And we parted!

Sura
The Nile flows quietly…
Seeping through the city's silence
And the burning sorrows of villages.
Now friends no longer exchange greetings each morning
No longer recognize each other.
Everywhere one sees them, these one-time prophets,
Poverty-stricken, sipping their tea, their tears,
Speechless.
They hide death in their fraying clothes,
And all they can say to our children is: patience.
They fade into the trees, commit suicide
At night, derive from alcohol
Their arguments, embark on futile wars
With their women, give up
Their prayers, then disappear.
Walls climb the ivy
And Khartoum, sitting in a café
Smoking
In the dark you can't tell apart
Muggers from those whose journeys they'd cut short.
We were lovers, looking for our children
Who were breaking into bakeries, stealing fire
From the ovens' throats.
- What name do you give me?
- I call you earth's Fiery Anger
So rise up
- What will be the taste of ashes?
- …………………….
And we parted!

Sura
Fire is the opposite of Water
And Smoke is a memory that prepares us only for ash.
Water is the opposite of Fire
And the waves are like maps, rippling across the land.
And the girl? She is somewhere between this heart and this knife…
City - you're a handful of grains of wheat, tucked
Into the purses of usurers and slave-traders.
And the black men
Are approaching, approaching. River Nile
To what deserts are you taking my reflections? You depart
And I stand among the horses, by your gate,
And my soul would embark on a holy journey too,
For the silence suspended between us
Is a language floating among the ruins of a beautiful, vanished past.
O River Nile, father
Were the trees merely windows reflecting women's sorrows,
Or have your waters shattered their images,
Drowned the history of women,
And painted forever their meadows the colour of poverty?
Poverty invades the children's playgrounds, leaving
Them silent, accursed, their heritage
Only anger and disbelief.
The Nile opens his arms
Speaks to the migrant birds
Falls silent
Reigns
And never sleeps
Never sleeps
The Nile drinks dry the desert's tavern,
Gets drunk on dumps of toxic waste,
Must survive in the city, falling apart
Each night, rising up through its history
And never sleeps
Never sleeps
The drums began with the sun
And its light filtered songs that entered into the pores of the soul.
In the river's shallows boats sheltered from toil and wind.
Now the carnivals of the blacks take fire
And the Nile has burst through the layers of time.
And, see, the kingdom of Maroe appears
And the face of the Nubian lover
Who walks among the sorrows of the waterwheels
Searching for warriors among the horses.
Where does the line of ancestral blood begin
And when does the blood loss reach its climax,
O King Piankhy, enthroned ruler of Kush,
A kingdom unravelling in bitter silence?
Shout at the horses, and let
The waters ready themselves.
Let the maps explode. How can the land be lost
When the future belongs to the Nile?
The Nile knows of the disgrace of cities
That have vanished.
Knows of the old times
Yet never speaks.
It is the Nile…
Generations will pass, and there will always be children
Lingering on its banks,
Waiting
For it all to end.

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