Poem 1 (By Tahani)

Like a piano lesson
Patience Passion and Poise
There is a woman’s in the distance
with words written down her face
that I can barley see them
I can close my eyes and see a reel of life’s dedication play for me
I know one day I will have to thank her
for teaching me to listen to the stories of my heart beats
I am grateful for blinking eyes and gods kiss of faith
I know I will be the one standing
When it happens
when chaos enters the room
I will be the one to protect her me you and us
Wind will force pockets of wisdom to live lifetimes in my blood stream
I am not vain
Nor
God complex
I am pen, paper and hope
I am no Barack Obama
Obama is no Barack Obama
To be honest
I cry when I think why really write
There is a chair that sits facing a wall in a corner
where no one looks
Like a neglected child
We scream words
That takes shape
Into bullets piercing the chest of the un-kissed by god
I am the sun rising
For those mother whose sons will never rise
This is an anthem
Of sunsets in thunder quacks
Of heart beats of a people
I write poems
I write to keep from going insane
I write poems so people know that I am sane
I write to keep my tears from falling
I write to keep your tears from existing

Roxy from Egypt

So i know this post is long overdue seeing as how I have been studying abroad in Egypt for a little over a month now. I have just been trying to soak in all of the information. And to be honest, I think the beauty of this country intimidated me from writing. I mean I definitely wrote but I think I was just scared to share my experiences publicly because it all just seems too precious to describe into words. This week however, it dawned on me that all the indescribable beauties that I used to admire have become just another aspect of my day and that I have become immune, or I guess naturalized to my environment.

I have only just come to terms with this immunity as I flip through the pages of my journal and read all of my entries from my first weeks here. When I first got here I took note of every single detail describing the houses and the faces of everyone I was encountering. My eyes were constantly observing everything and anything in front of me. I wrote a great deal about noticing the vast disparity between the rich and the poor- it is so weird to me to now become immune to the differences and just think of it as Egypt. I learned in my ancient Egypt class that the ancient Egyptians believed that you did not have to be born in Egypt to be considered Egyptian. All you had to do was live there and live like the Egyptians to be considered Egyptian. Is it weird that I almost feel Egyptian? I have gotten into the swing of things, and already have my routines and it scares me. I was going through old journal entries reading about all the little children that would come up to me at the beginning and ask for baksheesh (money). I wrote about all the conflicting emotions that where going through my heart. Whether it was wrong or right to give them money what was fifty cents to me? But was I only feeding into a horrible cycle? I would compare these little children to me as a child, and when I was six years old my biggest concern was what the colors blue and yellow made. I had no concept of money. Then I go to the university here and I see rich Egyptians wearing Gucci and Prada, and I was so flabbergasted at the vast difference between the two classes. Reading all my old thoughts saddened me because I no longer have this eagerness to observe burning within me. I think I have become so overwhelmed with my classes, friends, and exploring that I have forgotten to savor the precious moments that are building my experience here. I have let the normality of everyday life here consume me and have temporarily put out the fire within me that used to burn with questions. Now that I have become aware of it. I am going to pay close attention to the beauty of this gorgeous country and its people and start again from scratch, and in poet terms that would be a pen and notebook.

I think I will leave this post with something I wrote in my journal on on September 4th, 2008, not for those reading- but more to remind myself of the me that came to cairo and the me that has so much more to learn.

I am trying so hard to savor these moments
in a jar to place
within my heart
holding on with a tight grip
afraid to let these moments leave me
before I appreciate them
I don’t want this experience to become just another journal entry I refer to
when I’m nostalgic
So I watch the people pass
Every smile, every car, every cat-call,
And try and recall every detail
I don’t want this time to become a memory that seems so distant
I question if I’ve lived it.