Misri

in Egypt we are awed
pharaohs of yore are up
the streets packed with crowds
unaware which is best- the
left wave or the right wave
the silent approach, the lion's roar
the mexican wave
or the hopeless stutter
when gun, boots, bayonets
and rhetoric
rein in this land of powerful
thought;
Misri bleads and we know she shouldn't
the West holds, the East stands
till to waste she will have lain
we all wait to see one thing-
will the star reborn stand by us
or will she stir our deadly honnet's nest
of arsenal we dread to use?
time, Misri,
blood on pavements and
the wail to matyrs gone too soon
will be etched like art on great court walls
time heals, Misri