THE NILE IS NOT JUST A RIVER

"Reaffirming its strong commitment to the sovereignty, unity, independence, and territorial integrity of the Sudan, which would be unaffected by transition to a United Nations operation in Darfur, and to the cause of peace, expressing its determination to work with the Government of National Unity, in full respect of its sovereignty, to assist in tackling the various problems confronting the Sudan."

[UN Security Council]

I don't often presume to write on political matters, but the opportunity to play with a famous phrase presented itself and heck, I couldn't resist. Y'all know how I love a good pantoum.

THE NILE

Denial is not just a river in Egypt, but

the river in Egypt is a god of denial,

a god unawares that men must bleed,

the mighty god of tempests and tantrums.

The river in Egypt is a god of denial

swelling and arching its silt-slick back --

(like clockwork, our gods throw tantrums)

as it spits its lifeblood in Egypt's eye.

Swelling with silt and riches, spoilt,

like a martyr with too much pride,

it spits it's lifeblood into Egypt's veins

flooding the earth with spite and love.

Princess Cleopatra had too many suitors.

Her barge burned on the river, her burning

flooded the earth with spite and love;

the river is Egypt, is a god of longing.

Her eyes made water burn, her barge burn,

made the rulers of the earth burn. She,

the queen goddess of immortal longings,

ruled rulers and died in her own brief flame.

The river makes the earth itself burn

with desire, with thirst, with anger.

The river rules rulers whistfully,

unknowingly. The river is an ignorant god.

Men will desire, thirst, anger, by rivers

or in deserts or caught winched in between,

unknowing, ignorant of the ignorance of god.

Rivers carry the bloated backs of our dead

through the desert, where we may tear our hair

tear the flesh of our brothers, whose river it was --

whose god it was that bloated the backs of our dead.

It is, of course, never our god and never our river

that would tear the flesh of our brothers,

for our river, our god, was not born in the sea.

It is, of course, never our god and never our river.

Denial is a white-hot angry god.

Every river was born in some rumbling

of the earth, gnashing its techtonic teeth.

Every river is the white-hot center of denial,

a muddy ditch that men have made a god.

Men gnash their teeth and turn to the Nile,

for the river in Egypt is a god of denial.

Men made their muddy ditch into God,

a god unawares that men must bleed and die.