Chapter IV

The cruel clock struck

They stood in the sullen public squares

And circled the steps of the monument

Like trees ablaze

Among their tangled delicate foliage the wind blasted

Moaning ''My country, My country"

(My distant country)

The cruel clock struck

"Look" cried a belle

Lounging in a limousine with foreign plates

The second muttered:

"They will disband when the cold sets in

and when fatigue descends"

The cruel clock struck

In a cafe

A radio was broadcasting patchwork speeches

On riot-mongers

As they circled

Flaming on the petrified cake around the monument:

A candlestick of anger glowing at night

Voices flushing out whatever gloom remained

Chanting for the birthright of a new Egypt