Monday, May 27, 2013
I see her with my eyes
You see her with yours
No story can be told
The same way twice.
Details will change,
She will change,
I will shift,
You will add what you feel,
Not always what you really see.
History is a weaving of words
There are no lines, no boundaries,
Everyone tells their tale,
Everyone changes the story for their sake.
History is but a bed time story,
Bloody, happy, majestic or deadly.
I see it with my eyes,
You see it with yours,
No one can trust us
For the tale will never be true.
Note: This is the piece I read at the Department of English Language and Literature, Cairo University's second Poetry Recital.