Near the banks of the Nile
I walked in the park
and came across a group
of schoolgirls, teenagers.
Friendly, not flirtatious, they smiled.
– Welcome to Luxor.
– Ahlan bikum, I replied,
and they smiled again.
– Will you join in our game? said the teacher.
So I stood in the circle
and we played like nine-year-olds.
Happy for me to take their photograph
in their all-enveloping dresses,
their white headscarves,
they smiled or, wary of the camera,
cast their eyes down.
They don't meet many foreigners.
In Qena, their town, tourism
is not encouraged.
Luxor in the headlines.
Tourists massacred by extremists.
Were they from Qena too?
Will these gentle girls remember
our small gesture of friendship?
or is it lost,
drowned in infidel blood?
I should have written to the teacher,
but I lost the address.
You know how it is.
THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN PEOPLE SEMMS TO BE PLAYING HAVOC- WHERE AS A CASUAL PLAY IN THE PARK, A SMILE ON THE FACE WITH THEIR EYES LIT BRINGS EVEREYBODY CLOSER, LOVELY POEM
These random meeting with people from so far away mean lot...and they'll keep you in their memory, never fear. Lovely recitation of an encounter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The word 'extremists' slices through this pure and gentle gesture of humanity like a murderous blade. This beautiful yet stark poem serves to focus fearful minds in an age of fear and terrorism. S :)