Letter to the Egyptian People

Egyptians love this poem. It's just perfect in Arabic, and it's an utter misrepresentation in English, but its message bears spreading. This is my quick translation.


From: Hosni Mubarak
To: The Egyptian People

Dearest people, dearest soulmates, dear babes, dear good, nice people that I carry in my pocket

My people, you smart-alecs, you empty-talkers, you who live in graveyards, patient and fine

You who eat anything, you impoverished worriers, you carriers of mountains

My people, you who sleep, who are lost in thought, who daydream, who drift, poor, and whose state is in a state

I love you just the way you are: drugged, happied-out, in-denial, dizzy and dizzied, in the clouds

I like you not-sweating-it, anodyne, compliant and deferential

I like those among you who are crooked, those who lie, those who are fraudulent and steal fortunes

I love those who see, who know, who fear, who say nothing, and keep mum

I love those who shut their eyes, the fools, the idiots, the jackasses

I love those who are content, who do nothing, those who 'just want to raise my kids'

I love those who've lost hope, those who're sad, those who're depressed, to whom everything is impossible

I like it when you travel, when you're distant, migrant, when you transfer your dollars and riyals

I like you drumming, yelling, clowning, for a football match, a film, or a column

I like it when you support, kiss-hand, flatter, concur, pretend, and lick-shoe

But when you think, plan, decide, engage, and open debate

When you trouble, make trouble, provoke issues, or ask questions

And when you want to enlighten, to develop, to make yourself special

Then, oh then, I will get you, never leave you, and I will make of you an example, a lesson

I will throw you around, humiliate your folk, and make your pain beyond tolerance

I will drag your distinguished self, disgrace you, respected sire, and shrink your withered honour

You'll get slammed a court case, be dead weight, and for the rest of your life, you'll live in isolation

So, dearest, if you accept, I will love you, if not, I'll slap you down, and whether you rise or you fall, you'll get my Gamal.

[Gamal is the president's son]

* By Ahmed Fouad Negm

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