I think of Giza often, I think of how
azure the river runs between those banks
as the brimming desert pivots on its flanks,
and the distance covered between then and now.
The way the trees shred themselves in season
and carpet the walkway by the riverside;
skies convulse with colour, the sun ends its ride,
and they map distances done, then undone.
The sleepy movements of waters and winds,
the mosque in silhouette on the far shore,
the angles of sails I don’t see anymore,
and distances that can’t be imagined.
I think of Giza often, somewhere westward
and distances that can’t be mapped and measured.
Once upon a time I lived in 6th October, which is an important date in the history of Egypt and gives its name to a place in Giza. Need I say more?