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Poem
The Nile River seems like standing still;
But is actually continuously running, continuously promising.
By day, by night;
Depositing on its shores sands and rocks and debris.
Green farms stretching along;
Tall palm trees overlooking the scene.
Trees’ long “jareed” (leaves) freshly green;
Old dry “jareed” are houses roofs.
Old leaves, old roofs, old houses.
All sleeps in darkness and silence.
The sky crowded with stars;
The full moon immersing behind the Nile.
Until microphones are opened and tested and adjusted;
“Allahu Akbar” thunders. 
From this village, from that village, form all villages.
The Divine Orchestra is followed by roosters’ orchestra;
“Cock-a-doodle-doo”; “Cock-a-doodle-doo.”
One sounds like a bazooka; one like a tuba; one like a flute; and one in a soprano;
All like praying.
Then, the birds’ orchestra; 
There on the trees: “ganabir” (larks), “asafeer” (finches) and “qamari” (doves).
There on the Nile: “wizeen” (goose), “bat” (ducks) and “rahaw” (Cran).
There in the sky, “soqoor” (buzzards), “hidayat” (kites) and “rakham” (vultures).
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Men coming out of the village’s mosque;
After “hai ala alsalah” (time to pray), “hai ala alfalah” (time to work).
Here comes Moslab;
The village sailor.
His boat crosses the Nile; 
Carrying people, animals, goods and things.
He just prayed for the winds:
Weak winds don’t fill the sail, but heavy winds raise the waves.
Moslab prayed for full sail, but calm waters.
Moslab is not sure, so, he prayed and prayed.
Soon, the boat will be full;
Hassan’s mule, Ali’s two donkeys, Mahmoud’s three sacks of dates, and Aisha’s four goats.
At the other side of the Nile, people coming from Khartoum;
Omer’s sewing machine, Abdu’s two suitcases, Said’s three sacks of sugar, and Osman’s four plastic chairs.
But, Moslab is not sure about the winds;
He will pray all day.
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Here comes Dirar;
Our next door neighbor.
He sat in from of his house;
His wife brought him tea with milk and “gargoosh” (home-made biscuits).
Soon, it will be “hai ala alfalah” (time to work);
Soon, he will work at his sewing machine.
Soon, he will buy sacks of dates.
Soon, he will sell newspapers from Khartoum.
In Dirar’s shop, there are clothes, date sacks and newspapers;
They are all over the place.
Ahmed will come, and Hussein and Abdeen; 
Politics time; they will argue and argue and argue.
“The politicians in Khartoum only care about themselves; 
Not about us, the poor people.”
It is all in the newspapers.
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(to be continued)
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