Gezira is Still in the Waiting Station

By: Hussein Khojali

Gezira’s cities, capital, and villages are still under the weight of the crime of diaspora gangs, its people are still under the shackles of humiliation, murder, and terrorism, its women are still under the slavery of hidden rape and assassination, and the army and people are still waiting for the exposed and postponed alleged victory.
Despite the media’s procrastination and falsification, no one can prevent eyes from crying blood, nor hearts from breaking with blood, nor cemeteries from increasing in area and breadth.
And no one can prevent the commander of General Faqr Bin Adman, as he arrogantly knocks on the gates of the city with his Tatar armies. Autumn, lanterns and swords are absent.
The weakest faith in times of desolation, poverty, and scarcity of vocabulary is to preserve the radiance of the word through poetry, for poetry will forever remain the gift of revolution and the slogan of emancipation. It is a call to the poets of the peninsula, the people of pain, the poets of the center, the people of calamity, and the poets of Sudan, the guardians of great solace, not to close the gates of advice, disclosure, and the anthem. For in the beginning there was the word, and I had the honor of starting the source of crying on my shoulder.
The island is still in the waiting station

Hussein Khojali

The island’s cities, capital, and villages are still under the weight of the crime of diaspora gangs, its people are still under the shackles of humiliation, murder, and terrorism, its women are still under the slavery of hidden rape and assassination, and the army and people are still waiting for the exposed and postponed alleged victory.
Despite the media’s procrastination and falsification, no one can prevent eyes from crying blood, nor hearts from breaking with blood, nor cemeteries from increasing in area and breadth.
And no one can prevent the commander of General Faqr bin Adman, as he arrogantly knocks on the gates of the city with his Tatar armies. Autumn, lanterns and swords are absent.
The weakest faith in times of desolation, poverty, and scarcity of vocabulary is to preserve the radiance of the word through poetry, for poetry will forever remain the gift of revolution and the slogan of emancipation. It is a call to the poets of the peninsula, the people of pain, the poets of the center, the people of calamity, and the poets of Sudan, the guardians of great solace, not to close the gates of advice, disclosure, and the anthem. For in the beginning there was the word, and I had the honor of starting the source of crying on my shoulder.?
He swore by the Creator that He I wear a weapon and the bullet is given
The harm is broken, the joy is resounded, and the madman is restrained)
(Burning) of taking revenge caused me bleeding and bleeding
And the deer’s tears ruined the mirror of his cheek
The ungrateful dog must be executed
The snake if hidden make its hole wider
In (Sharafi grave yard) is the advice and so in Al-Bakri’s
We did not hear an honor protected by unsharp sword
What confused my heart and stirred my mind
Where are Al-Kahli, Al-Araki, and Butana Al-Shukri ?
He swore by the Creator that He conducted the affairs of His servants
But two thousand boys from Soba have volunteered
They wear a weapon and the bullet is given
The harm is broken, the joy is resounded, and the madman is restrained
The brave man sons, who support the needy
When crying is heard and blood is seen ?
Wad Haboba sold his beloved sword and his horses
Or are you satisfied with the vanished present world