Is that a passport to leave hell and go visit the world? I just remembered a verse in a song that said,"el dakhel 3andena maf2ood wel khareg men hena mawlood"
Each thing I do I rush through so I can do
something else. In such a way do the days pass -
a blend of stock car racing and the never
ending building of a gothic cathedral.
Through the windows of my speeding car, I see
all that I love falling away: books unread,
jokes untold, landscapes unvisited. And why?
What treasure do I expect in my future?
Rather it is the confusion of childhood
loping behind me, the chaos in the mind,
the failure chipping away at each success.
Glancing over my shoulder I see its shape
and so move forward, as someone in the woods
at night might hear the sound of approaching feet
and stop to listen, then, instead of silence
he hears some creature trying to be silent.
What else can he do but run? Rushing blindly
down the path, stumbling, struck in the face by sticks;
the other ever closer, yet not really
hurrying or out of breath, teasing its kill.
3 comments:
yeb2a ana kedah maf2oud wenta mawlood :(
yeb2a ant akeed, akeed fe masr, coz masr kom wel 3alem kom tani :)
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