We stand in historic times. All religious scrolls will most likely have some record of the Pharaonic era of the Egyptians. Now in our time, we witness the fall of the last.
Egyptians have put their ailing former head of state in court and are prosecuting away. Since his health fails him, he is brought in his hospital bed and kept in a cage while proceedings continue. That may sound cruel but for a country bent on making a transition to democracy, this may be the gesture that states their uncompromising stand of not returning to the past anymore.
There have been notable Pharaohs without whom Egyptian lore will not have been as attractive. There may not have been the Sphinx and Pyramids. Talk of Ramses and the days of the Pharaonic conquest into West Asia, his father Seti who had started that expansion, talk of Tutankhamen the boy king and his father-in-law, Akhenaton who himself preached a single universal god (the sun god), banning all other religions in the dynasty, Amenhotep who was Akhenaton’s father, the list goes on. It is in this same era that beautiful maidens who have charmed literature such as Nefertiti the wife of Akhenaton, and Cleopatra also were named. Today, we witness the end of their reign.
Let me write Mubarak a poem. He deserves it.
THE END OF AN AGE
Final on this bulwark propping
A stone hewn from a broken stone.
The cisterns of the gone men broken
And the courts of Thebes do moan,
Pity Alexandria, pity Cairo,
pity the hard dark face of the Rosetta stone.
trudging per foot,
with revolution in heart, with liberation in hand,
men set aflame by the burning of one man,
Men!! Sons of the Nile-dwellers,
the sun-worshippers, the waist wrigglers and the snake-charmers
Many manner of men!!
Men of the Ancient conquests,
and the hieroglyphics.
Men of the Sphinx, the mighty man-lions!
Men of the Pyramids, the godless tetrahedrons!
Mubarak, you away, that stone.
Tell your fathers before that we have come home.
We the sons of the land.
And we no more shall heed the oppression of their single arm
The blood of Egypt boiling,
boiling hot in our heads
has sent you tumbling down.
If we had met them all, sorry their story.
But we send you, an emissary…
A pot-load of Grecian misery.
To tell them we have come home.
Owners of our forgotten destiny.
I will not review this poem now. I hope Egypt will find it a worthy letter to be sent to the Pharaohs gone by. I send it to them.