رئيس التحرير يكتب : من التراب وإلى التراب يعود .. تحويل جثث الموتى إلى سماد عضوى
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اقرأ في العدد الجديد ( عدد يناير ٢٠٢٣ ) من جريدة صوت بلادي
In my naked city Dr.. Mohammed dbasha Member of the Egyptian Writers Union
In my naked city,
From the morning smiles and the breeze of love
Living on the sidewalks of oblivion
Birds do not eat at night
And do not drink the cups of passion
Do not sleep in the arms of wolves
And dark bats
And here
Butterflies weave tears as a scarf for a sad dream
Children are on the verge of patience
Don't carry it on your shoulders
Except mountains of weakness,
And seas of loss
Here there is no meaning to life
There is no life here for the destitute
Nor those who stand at the river's edge,
They perform orphans to perform the departure mass
In my naked city
Consciences and insights sleep
The smell of living death spreads
The ego's voices get louder
Here Marx returns in his materialistic garb
He says: There is no god but matter. Religion is the opium of the people. Do you not understand?
Oh, you fools like me
In my naked city
You do not ask for justice
And do not cry out of ignorance
The wolves here do not listen
