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The Last Pharaoh?


Congratulations to Wael Ghonim and all the children of Egypt !!

We are all Khaled Said

Diligence:  The work has just begun.

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Discussion

5 thoughts on “The Last Pharaoh?

  1. The gift of forgiveness is so powerful. What an amazing human being.

    Posted by Water_Nymph | February 26, 2011, 6:13 pm
  2. Heya X. Was just snooping ’round your website and checking out some of the new stuff. Looking great. Just finished watching the 60 Minutes interview you posted of the Egyptian citizen speaking about the social network-aided revolution. I found his comments about the soldiers who interrogated him shortly after the six-minute mark to be particularly interesting. Hope all is well with you. Topix has become a completely unmoderated cesspool. Don’t post much anymore.

    Posted by Fish | February 24, 2011, 10:44 pm
  3. ??

    Posted by Wonderer | February 11, 2011, 9:16 pm
    • Khaled and Hosni
      http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_of_Khaled_Mohamed_Saeed

      Into our town the Hangman came,
      Smelling of gold and blood and flame.
      And he paced our bricks with a diffident air,
      And built his frame in the courthouse square.

      The scaffold stood by the courthouse side,
      Only as wide as the door was wide;
      A frame as tall, or little more,
      Than the capping sill of the courthouse door.

      And we wondered, whenever we had the time,
      Who the criminal, what the crime
      That the Hangman judged with the yellow twist
      of knotted hemp in his busy fist.

      And innocent though we were, with dread,
      We passed those eyes of buckshot lead —
      Till one cried: “Hangman, who is he
      For whom you raised the gallows-tree?”

      Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
      And he gave us a riddle instead of reply:
      “He who serves me best,” said he,
      “Shall earn the rope of the gallows-tree.”

      And he stepped down, and laid his hand
      On a man who came from another land.
      And we breathed again, for another’s grief
      At the Hangman’s hand was our relief

      And the gallows-frame on the courthouse lawn
      By tomorrow’s sun would be struck and gone.
      So we gave him way, and no one spoke,
      Out of respect for his Hangman’s cloak.

      The next day’s sun looked mildly down
      On roof and street in our quiet town,
      And stark and black in the morning air
      Was the gallows-tree in the courthouse square.

      And the Hangman stood at his usual stand
      With the yellow hemp in his busy hand;
      With his buckshot eye and his jaw like a pike
      And his air so knowing and business-like.

      And we cried, “Hangman, have you not done
      Yesterday, with the foreign one?”
      Then we fell silent, and stood amazed,
      “Oh, not for him was the gallows raised.”

      He laughed a laugh as he looked at us:
      “Did you think I’d gone to all this fuss
      To hang one man? That’s a thing I do
      To stretch a rope when the rope is new.”

      Then one cried “Murder!” and one cried “Shame!”
      And into our midst the Hangman came
      To that man’s place. “Do you hold,” said he,
      “with him that was meant for the gallows-tree?”

      And he laid his hand on that one’s arm.
      And we shrank back in quick alarm!
      And we gave him way, and no one spoke
      Out of fear of his Hangman’s cloak.

      That night we saw with dread surprise
      The Hangman’s scaffold had grown in size.
      Fed by the blood beneath the chute,
      The gallows-tree had taken root;

      Now as wide, or a little more,
      Than the steps that led to the courthouse door,
      As tall as the writing, or nearly as tall,
      Halfway up on the courthouse wall.

      The third he took — we had all heard tell —
      Was a usurer, and an infidel.
      “What,” said the Hangman “have you to do
      With the gallows-bound, and he a Jew?”

      And we cried out, “Is this one he
      Who has served you well and faithfully?”
      The Hangman smiled: “It’s a clever scheme
      to try the strength of the gallows-beam.”

      The fourth man’s dark, accusing song
      Had scratched our comfort hard and long;
      “And what concern,” he gave us back.
      “Have you for the doomed — the doomed and Black?”

      The fifth. The sixth. And we cried again,
      “Hangman, Hangman, is this the man?”
      “It’s a trick,” he said. “that we hangmen know
      For easing the trap when the trap springs slow.”

      And so we ceased, and asked no more,
      As the Hangman tallied his bloody score.
      And sun by sun, and night by night,
      The gallows grew to monstrous height.

      The wings of the scaffold opened wide
      Till they covered the square from side to side;
      And the monster cross-beam, looking down,
      Cast its shadow across the town.

      Then through the town the Hangman came,
      Through the empty streets, and called my name —
      And I looked at the gallows soaring tall,
      And thought, “There is no one left at all

      For hanging, and so he calls to me
      To help pull down the gallows-tree.”
      So I went out with right good hope
      To the Hangman’s tree and the Hangman’s rope.

      He smiled at me as I came down
      To the courthouse square through the silent town.
      And supple and stretched in his busy hand
      Was the yellow twist of the hempen strand.

      And he whistled his tune as he tried the trap,
      And it sprang down with a ready snap —
      And then with a smile of awful command
      He laid his hand upon my hand.

      “You tricked me. Hangman!,” I shouted then,
      “That your scaffold was built for other men…
      And I no henchman of yours,” I cried,
      “You lied to me, Hangman. Foully lied!”

      Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
      “Lied to you? Tricked you?” he said. “Not I.
      For I answered straight and I told you true —
      The scaffold was raised for none but you.

      For who has served me more faithfully
      Then you with your coward’s hope?” said he,
      “And where are the others who might have stood
      Side by your side in the common good?”

      “Dead,” I whispered. And amiably
      “Murdered,” the Hangman corrected me:
      “First the foreigner, then the Jew…
      I did no more than you let me do.”

      Beneath the beam that blocked the sky
      None had stood so alone as I.
      The Hangman noosed me, and no voice there
      Cried “Stop!” for me in the empty square.

      -Maurice Ogden

      Posted by Xcntrik | February 12, 2011, 2:39 am

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