A brief on the streets of homosapiens
Kill animals, your belly is giggling.
Kill entire races, you want their lands.
Kill rioting slaves, fates are decided by bloodlines.
Kill infidels, your god is the greatest god ever™.
Enslave the Jews, their numbers are hilarious.
Enslave the Black, you need the sugar.
Enslave women and children, you feel frantic.
Enslave everyone to products, slavery is now unethical.
Corrupt minds, teach history as models.
Corrupt youth, give depression and ADHD.
Corrupt nature, spread global warming.
Corrupt families, at the push of a button.
Fear the unknown, make legends that protect you.
Fear death, and die from fear.
In the narrow streets
Street 1: The Parade Alley
In the alleys,
are the drums of Joy.
Henna over the hands
is cheering Oi.
Symphonies of Zaghroutas
are better than Beethoven’s.
The scent of food
is all over.
People laugh when their bellies do.
People starve for morsels of happiness.
Eyes on the meat.
Eyes on the wine.
Eyes on the plates,
so no eyes on the bride.
His love is more delightful
than fine wine.
She says let him
be with me forever
my chest is his home
his lips touch mine.
He stood there still
Did time slow down?
The luckiest is drowned
in the only beautiful browns.
He knows tomorrow is like yesterday.
But maybe those browns can end it.
Street 2: The downtown
A matrix
An Illusion
A maquette
Picture Motion
Let there be moving sculptures
Same clothes
Same talks
Same food
Let there be temples
Giant corporates
Eccentric restaurants
Expensive Malls
Let there be false gods
Mass Media
Weed
Influencers
Hollow yourself
Pray in the temples
Worship the gods
Repeat.
A matrix
An Illusion
A maquette
Picture Motion.
Street 3: Church
I raced myself, as King David said in his psalms.
Confessed.
Fasted.
Devoured Psalms.
Chanted hymns.
Took communion.
The light of candles covers
all the prayers in the hearts.
Christ in the yellow light
Is opening His arms.
The Angels on the paintings,
throws comfort to those who mourn.
The church bells tell you it’s the beginning,
and He is the Alpha and the Omega.
The scent of incense
blankets the feeling of guilt.
Tears of Saints you feel on your cheek
You feel lost the moment you find yourself
More than a Friday routine; it is the way to salvation.
Repentence.
Preparation.
Abiding traditions.
Righteousness.
Accepting Christ.
Street 4: ElMarg Subway Entrance
Till the hour zero we have few seconds
Take a deep breath.
Their clothes are eccentric enough to catch the attention
The hat is upside-down
It’s coming!
Dance till you die
Dance as if the cartel is pointing a gun at you
Dance for that piece of bread as your check
Passengers coming out of the station
are the Angels coming from the heavens.
Their pennies are the last thread.
Their mercy is the last solace.
No bread at the end of the day is death
Death is fear
No solace is anger
Fear and anger are red.
The color of freedom,
the color of riots.
The shields of their revolution
will be their hunger jail doors.
Streets of romance: a letter to Helen
Dear Helen,
I have just finished talking with you for two hours on the phone; damn it, I miss you.
I wanted to write about something I never had the chance to say. I’ve always felt you everywhere around me. The flowers on my room’s door look like your wig. I hear your laughter in the soul of the wind, so I laugh. Your hair is the dark skies, and your eyes are the moon, darling. Your songs in my head are louder than prayers; both can defeat the devil. You told me I only leave you when I’m asleep; little did you know that you’re with me in my dreams.
Darling, would you accept that nothing pulls us apart but death? I always dreamt that I would die young that my funeral was nearby and that I only saw your tears there. Darling, would you accept a miserable like me, a dead that your smile can return to life? Darling, would you accept a poor man like me, to hold your hand and look into your eyes for eternity? Darling, would you accept?
Yours and forever will be,
The Ramen Bowl
A breeze tickled my face
on a clear July sky night.
my coffee
my balcony
my jazz CDs
and my own
Trrrrrrn!
I’m not used to that sound.
I rush to open, and:
I guess we need to talk.
You know the rules, what is it?
Let me eat a ramen bowl.
Is that it?
won’t pray?
call family?
I never had any …
I’m hated by my people,
grieving alone for they rejected me.
No – I’m not saying I’m Jesus;
I’ve no place in any world.
That man looking at me in the mirror
tells me how much he hates me.
yet I have to stick to him;
I can’t afford a shrink, sir.
The ramen is ready.
We sat down on the balcony.
The breeze is tickling our faces.
I tasted each bite, meditated,
Slurp
Glup
Ahhhh
So, that’s it? You sure? No regrets?
I was ready for this moment
I was waiting to be honest.
I have lived as a servant and
as a king on the same day.
I slept on feather blankets and
a third-degree train on the same day.
I confessed love and danced;
I discovered my own land.
I am the free man
in the prison of existence.
I am about to be all free,
gloating in heaven on them
and I’m sure they will envy.
It’s like when Tupac said,
when I die, I’m not dead.
Hear me, O’ the death angel,
Take my soul, for I had eaten my last supper.
Take my soul, for I will be free.
I will be free.
I will be free …
Rested, with the breeze tickling my face.
The Wall
through the dark streets
at 3 in the morning again
silence is blanketing everything
voices in my head like a metal band
I can’t feel my legs wandering
and wondering, who cares for pain?
what is real? what’s fake?
all that I can see are the brands
it started raining, aren’t we in summer?
I remember memories I fought to obtain
when she and I danced in the thunderstorm
in the same life we couldn’t stand
the birds danced with us
I felt every drop of the rain
her laugh defeated the thunder
her smiles, my heart just can’t!
her eyes were like an arabian sword
that I accepted its hit in fain
O’ Lord! can your creation be this beautiful?
if her face is that blessing, how is heaven’s land?
your smile is like asclepius
brings me back to life from death restraints
darling, can I look at your eyes
and spend eternity holding your hands?
was that real? was that fake?
I used to daydream from reality chains
how is the world this ambiguous?
will I continue wandering without a plan?
all I did to forget collapsed in a snap
O’ Lord, I’m thankful for the home and rain
no one can see my anguish
I can’t show how much I am glad
I used to daydream my whole life
I started with a wall, a plain
now I struggle to find a space
I stand still watching it expand
she was the light that shineth every darkness
behind the wall and the demons went faint
st. John said the darkness comprehended it not
she did what everyone can’t
for the first time, I was alive
water was like champagne
the meaning of life before she came?
I guessed that life was all a scam.
what is real? what is fake?
I used to daydream from the reality chain
life is always a void of hell
so from the wall, I never wanted to strand
what is real? what is fake?
I used to daydream from reality restraints
both reality and imagination are destroyed
I’m in my dark room. on my neck, there is her hand.
Peter Girgis is a high school creative writer from Cairo, Egypt. He is a humanities independent researcher and the author of the Streets Poetry Collection. Coming from a Coptic Orthodox Family with the Arab Spring erupting during his childhood, his poetry and writing are hugely influenced by the events and streets, leaving a philosophical, political, and historical mark in his writings.
Aloka 