Archive | February 2012

12 Months Ago

12 months ago, we stomped desert sand, revived an Oasis Spring,
For little did we know, the bitter poison it had to bring.

12 months ago, they saluted our martyrs,
For little did we know, they ridiculed our tears.

12 months ago, Khaled Saeed’s mother soothed her pain,
For they told her Mubarak will no longer reign.

12 months ago, a man kept his hand away,
For he blogged how their hands were here to stray.

12 months ago, we thought they closed grave yard’s door,
For little did we know, they kept it open for more.

12 months ago, we thought the curtains had fallen,
For little did we know, our role was stolen.

12 months ago, ALL scorned the chair.
But in the hearts of some, it took all their care.

12 months ago, fireworks shone the sky
Celebrating a disguise, a joke, a lie.

12 months ago, we should have prepared our gun.
For 12 months ago, the revolution had just begun.

Feb 11th 2012

#Feb11

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Carve on Prison Walls

Lost eyes, blood shed.
Cold tiles, bunk-bed.

See freedom, climb mountains.
See reason, Oasis fountains.

War zone, same blood.
Shake hands, same nod.

Note self: Please survive.
Closed chapters, story alive.

Hang on, little left.
Let go, little kept.

Take time, not long.
Take breath, last one.

Both stand, one smiles.
Both fall, one dies.

Two souls, one sees.
Two souls, one breathes.

Raise flags, up high.
Wind blows, flags fly.

Same grave, hundred lives.
Same fight, hundred tries.

Last carve, nails gone.
Last line: WE WON.

His Hoodie, His Scent

And for all she remembers was the kiss on her cheek,
And now what echoes is her definite shriek.

“I tried to stop him I told him to stay.”
“But he had his hoodie on and I had no say”

“I opened the TV hoped I’d see him on air,
But all I could do was tearfully stare.”

“I prayed to God please protect my son,
For no happiness lingers if he will be gone.”

“Out of reach, my heart pounds in fright.”
“They will protect him, but no guard in sight!”

“My son’s massacre is their own personal delight.”
“A planned plot and not just a street fight.”

2 a.m, house cold and remote.
Door knocks and given a bank note.

This is your money to compensate your loss
And we will investigate to punish the fuss.

“For my son, is my heart, my eyes, my soul.”
“Compensation of money is an act so cold.”

But the price of his death is so valuable to he
The country is in chaos and accusations flee.

And they raise the flags, dress in black, mourn 4 days,
And she’s torn to pieces till God takes her where he stays.

“An eye for an eye, a life for a life.”
“Who took my child, WILL FEEL MY KNIFE”

And forever the question mark will remain
because those in power are hidden so vain.

#PortSaid Massacre.