Once Upon...

I see her with my eyes

You see her with yours

No story can be told

The same way twice.

Somewhere, somehow

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.