In awe, I watch on my television screen
how Egyptians openly storm the streets, 
walk in throngs, chant in unison their 
will for change, crowding Tahrir Square. 

I still remember my youth, under rigid,
military rule, when lips were sealed, 
when every wall had ears, when every 
corner café, every restaurant table 
remembered our conversations. 

That was so long ago: we chose 
to leave, hearts heavy with memories.
Others got used to the status quo.

From far away, I marvel at the power 
of images, when throbbing hopes 
brighten ebony eyes, raise flags, 
press bodies against bodies hours long, 
oblivious of hunger and discomfort.

No dissonant gestures break the ebb 
and flow of their unified voice, 
rhythmically shaking their reclaimed 
Mare Nostrum.

A page has been turned. Men 
and women want to write letters 
of freedom on their children’s 
foreheads, one by one, 
cover the walls of their dreams 
with glistening graffiti and sparkles, 
erasing the memory of fear.