(For Heroes of the Egyptian Revolution)

Northern juice dripping blood and milk…grabbed,
and harnessed by the children of  the new moon
whose strength is in the virtual space housed
in the west wave of thoughts, new and webbed by
the strength of the borderless world.

Up north, the new, unborn when the old was young
and raged from the bottom to prominence, took
centre stage with tiny gadgets of global import,
big enough  to mobilize the world to a war not fought
for fun but for freedom from fear and the fear of a
future threatened  by a mosaic of uncertainty and
disconnect from the realities of an era destined to
thrive by peace and global oneness.

On the Nile, no guns and tanks. Bullets came from
Masked cowards whose hearts beat of shame and
soul-less self-pity. More words were shot to displace
the head that heeds not to the signal of time and history.