In Egypt
I saw some great arts
A huge papyrus of poems
Called the pyramids.
From the last floor
Of the Delta Pyramid hotel
I meander my way
To the foothills of the great wonder
Of slabs and of dust and of holes
Waitng to catch
A glimpse of me.
What a mighty edifice
Without scafolds
Without cranes as machine aids
Preserved along with them
Yet alone man made them.
I was taken again
On a guided tour
To Geza where a smiling sphinx
But a mangled nose
Of bullets poured in
From the breeches of Napoleon's guns.
These were the poems I saw
But the poets long gone
I will wait
Speaking on the cotton school
The kings and pharoahs and the mummies
Living on the dust
Of the rolling desert
And the Nile
And its canals,
The livelihood of the poets
Whose rendition I have captured here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
living on the dust, good writing.