ويعيش جمال عبد الناصر.. ما قاله الشعراء في وداع الزعيم – شعاع نيوز

We killed you, O last of the prophets

We killed you..

It’s not new to us

Assassination of companions and saints

How many messengers have we killed?

How many imams…

We slaughtered him while he was praying the evening prayer

Our entire history is an ordeal

And all our days are Karbala..

2

You have revealed to us a beautiful book

But we can’t read.

And you traveled among us to the land of innocence

But we did not agree to leave.

We left you in the Sinai sun alone..

Speak to your Lord alone in the stage

And he got naked..

And you are miserable..

And you’re thirsty alone…

Here we sit cross-legged

We sell slogans to idiots

We stuff the masses with straw and hay

And we leave them in the air

3

We killed you..

O mountain of pride!

And the last oil lamp…

It shines for us on winter nights

And the last sword from Al-Qadisiyah

We killed you with both hands

And we said semen

Why did you agree to come to us?

Someone like you was too much for us.

We made you drink the poison of Arabism until you were satisfied…

We threw you into the fire of Amman until you were burned

We showed you the treachery of Arabism until you disbelieved

Why did you appear in the land of hypocrisy?

Why did you appear?

We are people of pre-Islamic times

We are fickle..

We are the oscillation..

And the mystical..

We pledge allegiance to our lords in the morning…

We eat them when evening comes.

4

We killed you..

Oh our love and passion

And you were the friend, and you were the truthful,

And you were our father..

And when we washed our hands.. we discovered

That we killed our own..

And your blood is on the pillow…

It was blood

You shook the dust of the dervishes from us..

You restored our youth to us

You traveled with us to the impossible

She taught us pride and aggression.

But we are

When the journey took us too long

Our nails and beards became long

We killed the horse.

So our hands became steadfast…

So our hands became steadfast…

We come to you with our sufferings..

And our grudges… and our deviations…

Until they slaughter you

With the sword of asana

May you remain in our land as long as you appear…

I wish you were a prophet like us…

5

Abu Khaled.. What a poem..

It is said.

And the ink becomes green from it..

To where?

O knight of the dream, you go..

What is the half, when the horse dies?

To where?

All legends are dead..

With your death… and Scheherazade committed suicide

Behind the funeral… Quraysh walked

This is Hisham..

And this is Ziad..

This brings tears to you

And his dagger, under the mourning dress

This one struggles in his sleep.

And in the wake..

Jihad cries for him..

And this is trying to get rid of you..

And after you..

All kings are ashes..

The Kharijite delegations…all came

To organize you..

Love epics..

Whoever disbelieves in you..

And who betrayed you..

And those who crucified you at the Damascus Gate…

I call you… Abu Khaled

And I know that I am calling Bud

And I know you won’t respond

And the supernatural is not repeated…

The fragments of the hadith remain torn in pronouns

Sleeping in tranquility

Until her sorrows become wings

You fly with exhausting words

He goes and the air stops him

He returns it to the sound of the sad city of death ringing within its walls

The voices of her family who made her cry

They gather at the tables of the poor at night

Tortured and beaten

They are watered by tears and groaning and groaning are their bread

Between the two tears, they ask questions

They rustle like withered autumn leaves

Did he die who gave life his life?

He really died?

Words gather around a secret name like the pulse in their artery

Twenty years

It was their refuge from the brutal night

It was a sick man’s spell

It was a dream of sleeping with sick people

And the song of the traveler in the dark

The key to the city belonged to the poor man, and the city guards protected him from its protection

It was the season to get it

He comes and scatters a thousand threads of fertility, blossoming in its thickets

He liked to mention his deeds every night

For the exhausted, sleeping with half a dress, half a stomach

It was filled with affection, singing, wishing, and speech

Now every word has become a dagger

And for every wish there is torment

Did he die.. and we mourned him!!

Twenty years

We meet you as a young man in war clothing, blowing the trumpet

To awaken the pieces

Reunification of enslaved Egypt

Over the course of time, it was torn into pieces

So you floated along the course of the Nile, collecting torn after torn

Until you got up – you both got up – and threw the coffin into the blazing flame

You promised to be in good company

We will meet you as an old man, gray-haired, in the age of prophecy.

All that remains is separation

I will make a grave there

And make his witness a tear from your banner

Then I say hello

The time of invasions has passed and the comrades are gone

They went

We returned as orphans

Are there only two flowers that I embrace over your grave?

Then I tear the chains from my feet?!

I have followed you from the beginning of the dream

From the beginning of despair until its end

And you fulfilled your duty

And you went from impossible to impossible

I didn’t want to see the color of your eyes

Or I will hide my mask

I was walking behind my dolls

I see cities sparkling like buds

Where the range becomes cloudy and the neighing is lost

And the fortresses are falling around me

And I shout at people

-Day by day-

And Cordoba is the meeting place and the embrace

Oh… does blood deceive its owner?

Is the blood that fell in love with you forbidden? !

I was in one of the city’s castles lying prisoner

I was writing dark

And I watch your golden procession

So an ecstasy takes me and tears away my darkness

Then I write a poem about you

Oh my lord!

How we thirst for a time that takes the heart

We told you to do as you wish

And he prepared for the city the pearl of justice

The unique pearl of the impossible

I was never a witness

I am a killer or be killed!

Die twenty deaths

And you lost twenty lives

And you captured the spirit of the seasons

Your eras will fade away, and I will continue to sing for those who will come

Then Cordoba returns and intercession is permitted

I’m dreaming now

She didn’t come

Rather, the Frankish army came

So they took us to the sea, crying for the king

No, I am not crying for the king

But for a wasted life, it was nothing but a beautiful illusion!

Goodbye here, my prince

It’s time for me to return to my guitar

And I continue my odyssey and crossing

That Granada is disappearing

Fog shrouds its minarets

Its ships are covered by water

And you return to your royal grave with it

And I return to my destiny and destiny

Who do you think knows now in which land I will die?

Your day has become a lamentation

The immortals are alive

Or are they provided? Yes, and this is their livelihood

The essence of existence is prestige and wealth

Pray for life, so I said, “It is a debt that is required.”

Death was said and I said it was fulfillment

I praise you, and praise is not worship

How much the worshipers have spoiled praise

Glory does not protect men

It was great, glory and mistakes

You have been the witness of a nation with its breezes

And its abandonment, and the morning and evening

It has cast its forests and meadows upon you

I entrusted you with sand and desert

You are a son of your land from the core of its soil

Fruits are given, but it was not a phoenix

She embraces good times from her nature

And you – despite your nature – endure adversity

There were a thousand neighbors around you who wanted you

Destruction, and only you want to build

God, your chest has the strongest ribs

In distress, the most delicate of them is prosperity

He praised you, the crowd expressed it

Leaders, as it creates leaders

She got up and got up, running after her

He smelled the mountains, determined and illuminated

It relapsed and relapsed, and I was its banner

Yahuwah, I am not satisfied with anyone other than you as a general

We are not angels, but we are sufficient

Her temptation, let’s resist the temptation

Why is it surprising that we do not bear our burden?

Destiny, and we are not in a destiny

O son of Kanana and son of all great things

Cunning, improving the country’s affliction

He slaughtered the ransom and you became a victim

On their behalf, how rich is the ransom.

We walk with you

We are hungry with you

And when you die

We try not to die with you!

But why do you die away from water?

And the Nile fills your hands?!

Why die away from lightning

And the lightning in your lips?

And you promised the tribes

A summer trip from pre-Islamic times

And you promised the chains

With the strong fire of Znoud

And you promised the fighter

With a battle, Al-Qadisiyah will be restored

We see your voice now filling the throats

Whirlwind after whirlwind

We see your chest now as a revolutionary rampart

And a street sign

We see you

We see you

We see you as tall as a spike in Upper Egypt

As beautiful as an iron smelting plant

And free as a window on a distant train

I am not a prophet..

But your shadow is green

I remember?

How I made my facial features

And how you made my forehead

And how I made my alienation and death

green

green

green?

Remember my old face?

My face was being mummified in an English museum

It falls in the Umayyad Mosque

When, my friend?

When, my dear?

When do we buy a pharmacy?

With the wound of Hussein… and the glory of Umayyad

We send bread and water to the Aswan Dam

And a million kilowatts of electricity?

I remember?

It was our civilization

A beautiful Bedouin trying to study chemistry

Under the shade of palm trees, he dreams of a plane

And ten women

I am not a prophet

But your shadow is green..

We live with you

We walk with you

We are hungry with you

And when you die

We try not to die with you

Above your shrine new wheat grows

New water comes out

And you see us

We walk

We walk

We walk.

Long live Gamal Abdel Nasser.. Abdel Rahman Al-Abnoudi

He lives with his voice and dreams in the hearts of Abdel Nasser’s people

I am not a Nazarene nor was I ever

Especially in his time and at that time

But the rot and corruption of the people

He forgot me even in his cells…in Abdel Nasser’s prisons

How can we forget the present..

The taste of authenticity in his voice?

Long live Gamal Abdel Nasser

Gamal lives even in his death. Abdel Nasser did not die and live!!

His name is Jamal and he is really beautiful

Once upon a time we saw brave and fearful people

Great…and he was a human, of course

Glory is not a job of journalism, that is why Abdel Nasser lived

His enemies hated him and Naama

He who is hated by his enemies is honest

In his heart, he was embracing his mother

Conscience, determination and principles reside in Abdel Nasser’s voice

Our features…have returned after an absence

Only now we understand

He was neither a thief nor a liar

We should not loot it with whoever has it. I am talking about Abdel Nasser

We lived life with him like a dream

There is no corruption and no mortgage of the country

On that day, we developed culture and science

In his time, we did not live as individuals. We were masses in Nasser’s time

Hope was pristine in its greenness

There are no thieves for food and money

Egypt has heroes and men of thought

And intellectuals, women and men of Gamal Abdel Nasser’s armies

The crescent moon had a cross at its heart

We have not seen liars in our country

We did not see Deb chasing Deb

There is no bell to call Madna. We are alone with the voice of Abdel Nasser