Translations from Egyptian Arabic.

You whom we carry on our shoulders, we mourn your blood in chant,

and we pray for you.

A child's bare bread, and what little he dips it in, and his Arabic lesson in the village school, will pray for you.

And every pound added to the meager pay of a government clerk, the son I have yet to conceive, the mother who has yet to find her cure, the ground of the detention camp the day it stands empty, surely, all of these will pray for you.

And every wrong that was never done, every truth that was never silenced, every blow that was never struck, and every mark a body never bore, will pray for every face and every name of those who stand beside you now, from us.

Maybe ours is the generation that sees it through. Maybe our children. Maybe it must be the both of us.

But, a vow on me, a bond,

our children will come resembling you.

They will kiss the foot of the youngest among you.

They will raise his flag the way he would have loved.

They will know your names, all your names, by heart.

And from the last one of you to the first,

they will pray for you.

In a world full of faults you alone are expected not to falter for if once your fragile body sped up or slowed down it would fall and cover the ground in ruins

at which night do you expect that fault to lie, at this very night, or at another?

as circus lights overflow on your stage and people pace up their cheers with your path paved with light amidst darkness as you wave your hands like a knight beholding the sight of his city bidding farewell, seeking people's empathy in silence

then you walk towards the first ropes with straight shoulders as they are beating drums at the pace of your steps… filling the wide stage with cheers of noise then they say: “proceed.”

at which night do you expect that fault to lie?

as your body falls prey to fear and adventure and your legs and feet come to life stretching on their own reclaiming themselves from bouts of failure,

as if serpents had coiled there, as if wild cats, black and white, clashed and broke apart along the rim of the circle

as you perform your fearsome art with ever increasing pace unknowingly collecting people's attention for the impending culmination of your act lingering bravely at the abode of death and danger, playfully and carelessly

jumping off the rope to perform your tricks having left a shelter… not having returned to another as fear for your destiny manifests on the audience's faces

in pleasure, sympathy, and anticipation till you return to your shelter… poised and balanced lifting your hands at the sight of the crowd

at which night do you expect that fault to lie?

lingering down beneath you in the darkness ruminating on its burdensome arrival as if it were a legendary monster that no human had ever tamed,

as beautiful as a peacock as attractive as a snake as agile as a tiger having the nobility of a calm lion at a moment of ultimate danger

deceptively seeming to be asleep whilst it's preparing itself for an unexpected leap invisible, not to be seen yet beneath you, chewing on stone waiting for your anticipated fall,

at a moment when you overlook the calculation of your steps or at which you lose the ability to make a wise initiative as a memory rises before you, lonely and apologetic, hurrying to cover its sudden nakedness

or as vanity perches on your head like a drunken bird, full, giddy with silence, oblivious to the swing as it begins its descent

as the circus starts to turn the ropes throb beneath you like a bowstring just released the scream embeds itself in the night like a dagger flung by a thief

as the circus starts to turn and its lights pulsate nervously on your damaged befallen body on your broken hands and legs only then you smile… for having now known it all… …having witnessed your fated downfall.