In Egypt, you more feel your way
through the beat of a song than hear it.
It is that wild thing you are after,
that joy of the moment held for its own sake,
smoothing the blows into a throb you can live with
rather than pounding it out on your own.
It is like the tears running through the rhythm of your heart,
the ebb and flood of them the most ancient song
we sing of lives lived and life lived on,
when it seems there is no reason to listen.
But you do, because you hear that music.
This is a poem written about and for the dearest of all my friends, my “brother of another mother.”
Thank you for reading The murmur of the Nile, ever on. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.
Sadly, I do not have a photo of the Nile or Egypt in my collection, so I substituted one of Lake Tahoe on the California side. Certainly, it reminds me of the tranquility of the Nile. To see my photography blog, please visit the Book of Bokeh.
Photograph, poem, and notes © John Etheridge; all rights reserved. The poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Work 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original written work found on this site unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is © John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com. The photograph is not licensed for use in any way without the expressed consent of its creator.