Egypt

Egypt

The sun rises slow above the Nile,

gold spilling across the water,

casting shadows that stretch and yawn

over palm trees and mud-brick homes.

The river hums with memory,

each ripple a whisper of Pharaohs and priests,

of boats that once carried treasures,

of voices that have long been silent.

The pyramids stand beyond the sand,

timeless and patient,

their edges cutting the sky,

guardians of stories too old to forget.

I walk among the stones,

fingers brushing worn hieroglyphs,

and I feel the weight of centuries

settle lightly on my shoulders.

Markets awaken with a clatter,

the smell of spices chasing sleep from the streets,

fruits gleaming like tiny suns

and bread baking warm in clay ovens.

Voices bargain and laugh,

a rhythm as old as the land itself,

and I watch, caught in the pulse,

part observer, part believer in their energy.

At sunset, the desert blooms in fire,

sand catching the last light,

turning each grain into a flicker of gold.

Camels move like shadows across dunes,

wind shaping them into new patterns

while the horizon holds its breath,

and the sky deepens into violet and amber.

Night comes with a hush,

stars trembling over temples and tombs,

and the river mirrors them,

silver and still.

I feel Egypt in my bones,

its past alive beneath my feet,

its mystery flowing through my veins,

and I know a part of me will never leave this land.