Beyond the road of life,

Roses on both sides,

Waving in soft tides,

Stairs, wondrous high,

Reaching into the sky,

Silvery grey,

Overlooking a bay,

Adjoining gigantic trees,

Swaying with every breeze,

Creating a marvelous dance,

Singing glorious chants,

With angelic voices,

Creating beautiful melodies.

All inhabitants rejoice,

Free from all worries.

Up the emerald stairs,

Traveled the immortal heirs,

Reaching for the light

Whose magnificent delight

Surpasses all imagination,

Heading for their coronation.

Stars shine on the steps,

Sparkles salute footsteps,

Youth, restored and perfected,

Backs, ideally erected,

All standing tall,

Strong like never before,

With luminous faces,

Holding no sorrow traces;

Dressed in brocaded garments,

Emanating an amazing fragrance.

No more maladies, no more pains,

Joyfully, dwells married twains.

Rejoicing with what no eyes have seen,

Not even in the wildest dream.

Lovers walk side by side,

Holding hands in pride,

Above soil of topaz,

Of ruby and sapphire

Crooning in the choir,

Beside the endless river,

That ceaselessly deliver

Water sweeter than honey,

Smelling like Oriental lily.

What hearts ever desired,

They have finally acquired.

Father and son, young together;

Mother and daughter, charming forever.

In lands whose end no one can reach,

Whose peculiarities no soul can preach.

In the everlasting abode

At the end of life’s road

Awaits the virtuous, the kind,

Whose hearts were never blind.

Beyond this worldly life,

There awaits an everlasting life,

For which, every soul should strive.


I wrote this a few years back as prose. I felt like rewriting it as poetry.
Your feedback is highly appreciated.

Time of the Fallen

Destined to sorrow,
With no hope in tomorrow,
Luckless by birth,
Bluer than earth,
The ever afflicted boy,
Destiny’s favorite toy,
Deeply hurt,
Treated as dirt,
From misery to fear,
He shed no tear.


The world is a nasty place,
Inhabited by a stupid race.
A truth he discovered too late,
After the sealing of his fate.
He hoped to make a change,
To the world, he was so strange.
Righting wrongs is dangerous,
When most people are treacherous.
Like Don Quichotte, he failed,
He grew old and despaired.


Worn-ruin is what remains,
From the boy who dreamed to break all chains.
The boy who walked in love,
Created from clay thereof.
He grew tired of the world,
Into isolation, he sits furled,
Sick of blinded eyes,
Of lies and failed tries;
Sick of deaf ears,
Of loud jeers,
Thrown at his solo strife,
at a boy keen on wasting his life,
After a lost hope crawling,
In the time of the fallen,
With a mind shaking in worry,
With a vision dark and blurry,
His heart wails and screams,
Over remnants of dead dreams,
That lie like dead roses,
Behind a curtain that closes,
They’ll never bloom again,
nor will their petals reopen.


The bargain is struck indeed,
Between servility and greed.
As long as what’s sold is freedom and honor,
The fallen shall always raise their banner.
Anguish overflowed the boy’s heart,
His life was torn apart.
Screaming but unheard,
Saying the unspoken word,
“For the cheapest price,
Hell has defeated paradise.”

The Lost Way To Misrost

A Novel By Ehab Shawky

Chapter One

Struggling against endless raging waters, stroke after stroke my arms relentlessly fought. My eyes searched for the shore. Disabled by the ruling night, I strove and strove but to no avail. Suddenly, a fading silver light started to rise on the horizon. Before it filled my eyes, before certitude filled my heart, I woke up.

Looking around, I found myself still sleeping in that abandoned oasis amidst the Misrostian eastern wilderness. I looked at the stars and pondered over their silence and might, hope had always gleamed in their light. A gentle breeze blew away the heat of the night and renewed my vigour. I got up, looked around bidding the peaceful place farewell, and then I started my journey back to the heart of Misrost.

My name is Qotazio Al-Misrosty. I am the former captain of the famous merchant ship, “Karma.” I am the son of late Mohab Al-Misrosty, one of the former generals of his majesty’s once had been army. Some say that the lineage of our family could be traced back to the descendants of Misroim himself. Personally, I never believed this allegation. I still remember how my grandmother used to tell me the stories of my ancestors, and I remember how I used to mock those stories during my teenage years. My father always resented my attitude regarding this particular issue, but he never tried to discuss the matter with me. There was I… the alleged descendant of Misroim himself, wearing patched dirty clothes, starving, and walking back to my homeland after a long tiring journey that ended up with colossal failure.

Near the border of the oasis, I saw an old man leaning his head on his stick, sitting under a palm tree.

“Peace and blessings be with you old man,” I said.

He raised his head, looked me up and down, and then said suspiciously, “May Alaha’s peace and blessings be with you my son. To where might the traveller be headed?”

“To the heart of Misrost,” I replied.

His eyes grew wider and protested, “Heart of Misrost! Are you crazy?”

“Why are you saying that?” I asked.

The old man got up, grabbed me by my shoulders, and said hysterically, “The way to Misrost was lost long ago. It was overtaken by beasts that kill its youths. If I were you, I wouldn’t go there. Go and start a new life elsewhere.”

He retreated in quick humpy steps towards the heart of the oasis. I heard him repeat that last sentence continuously until he disappeared amidst the palm trees

The old man must be mad, I thought to myself. I turned around and continued my journey back home. All I was hoping for at that moment was to return to my family’s farm, settle down, and raise a family of my own. I still had relatives living in Misrost, so I was counting on the help I shall get when I arrive. I was two weeks away from home. All I had for food was a sack of dates and a waterskin, which I refilled whenever I passed by a water well.

A few miles away from the ancient city, the gigantic ancient monuments were still standing as a warning for invaders. “Beware, intruders. A mighty, capable nation lives behind me. Go back before it’s too late,” that’s what I have always imagined them saying.

On approaching the city gates of Fastotia, the largest Misrostian city, I saw some soldiers searching an entering caravan. They were treating the riders in a very harsh manner. One soldier pushed a young woman throwing her on the muddy grounds and shouted roughly, “Where is the damn message bitch?” The young woman seemed oblivious to what the soldier meant. He pulled her up by one hand and slapped her with the other, and then repeated the same question. Not receiving an answer, he dragged her by her hair into the officers’ room beside the city gates. Another soldier pushed an old man violently towards a higher-ranking officer and said something about Shamalia. The officer pointed towards a caged wagon and ordered the soldier to throw the man inside it.

I wanted to stay out of trouble, so I decided to mind my own business. I waited for my turn in the line trying not to care too much. Suddenly, a small, firm palm pulled my left hand. I looked, and there was a young child with a dirty face smiling at me. He was champing from an apple in a funny manner.

“Peace be with you, uncle,” he said loudly.

I patted his head in a bit of disgust and responded smiling, “Peace be with you, young man. What are you doing outside the city gates? Where are your folks?”

The boy looked at the gate and said, “My family lives inside Fastotia near the gates. I was playing with the boys in the street when a fruit seller passed by. One of his bags was leaking but he didn’t notice this. I collected what fell from the bag, followed the man, and returned the apples. As a reward, he offered me those few apples. Can you take me with you into the city? I’m afraid the soldiers would confiscate the apples and arrest me thinking I’m a thief?”

What a chatty little person, I thought to myself.

“Why would they think you are a thief?” I asked wondering.

“Apples are very expensive. A poor boy like me cannot buy them,” he answered in a pitiful tone that felt fake.

I looked him in the eyes and asked, “Why don’t you just tell them what happened as you told me?”

“They won’t believe me, uncle. They would confiscate the apples as they always do with poor people. Please uncle, just hold my hand till we pass through the gate. My sisters haven’t eaten anything for two days now. Please uncle, please.”

Unable to deny some admiration that had crept into my heart towards his persistence, I decided to help him. I held his little palm until we reached the checkpoint. The soldier sitting behind the desk said, “Your name and address of residence.”

“My name is Qotazio Al-Misrosty. My family owns a farm by the river bank in Fastotia.”

The soldier raised his head piercing the boy and me with his looks in a strange way.

“Wait here,” said the soldier. He got up and walked over to the officers’ room hurriedly. The strange manner in which the soldier looked at us made me nervous. The moment this boy grabbed my hand, I smelled trouble. I felt he was hiding something. He must have stolen the apples’ bag from the officers’ room, I thought looking at him doubtfully.

“Did you say your name is Qotazio Mohab Al-Misrosty, uncle?”

“Yes,” I responded coldly concentrating on the rapid movement around us.

Suddenly an officer came out from the guards’ room, mounted his horse, and took off towards the city gates shouting, “Make way.”

Then the soldier came out and whispered some orders to his comrades. They immediately started moving towards us. The boy pulled his hand out of mine saying, “I’ll see you later, uncle.” He ran through the gate and disappeared amidst the crowds. Amazingly, the soldiers didn’t care whatsoever about the boy. They surrounded me, and their leader said, “The chief wants to see you. He is waiting for you in his office at the city hall. Walk along now.”

Without giving me a chance to utter a word, they pushed me forward, and we started walking towards the heart of Misrost.

front cover

“The Lost Way to Misrost” is available at:
Diwan Bookstores: Zamalek, Maadi, Heliopolis, & Zayed.
You can order by WhatsApp from Diwan, (+201226000168)
Beta Bookstore: (45, St.9, Maadi).
Cairo, Egypt.
For more info, contact me.




If you wish to read more online, Please visit the novel’s blog here.

How I dream

To the Younger Generations,
May you accomplish what we have failed to do.


How I dream old friend,
Of a world that can mend,
Broken pure hearts,
Reconnecting scattered parts.
A world that knows no destruction,
But only knows construction.
Love seeds sowed all around,
Hatred, no longer found.
We’re no longer bound,
To sorrows of the past,
Nor are we downcast.
I dream day and night,
To my dreams’ light,
I escape from reality’s darkness,
I search for goodness,
For warmth and beauty,
Whose finding is a sacred duty.
It’s a world possible to reach,
A world I will never cease to preach.


This dream my friend,
Your life will surely end.
It’s like a rose amidst the desert,
It won’t live, so save your effort.
Such dreams are destined to perish,
Such dreams, people don’t cherish.
You shall be forsaken by the majority,
Belittling your strife will be their priority.
I hate to see your heart,
Getting torn apart,
By reality’s blunt knife.
So don’t waste your life,
Let the world be,
It won’t change, believe me.



Faraway, from beyond a mountain,
Came running a bunch of children,
Chasing their loose kite, shouting ‘FLY,’
Their eyes attached to the sky,
Their hopes aimed so high,
All odds, insisting to defy,
Trying to outrun the wind,
And their dream defend,
With magnificent persistency,
With perfect consistency.


While the elders continued to debate,
The youngsters overlooked the bate.
They carried out the task,
Without a question to ask.
They strove with a pure passion,
Seeking to make the impossible happen.



Menial Life

Done Fighting
By: Ehab Shawky


East and West, evil resides all around
To its strings most people are bound
“Stop it before its spark ignites our lands,
Stop it before its winds disable our hands”

Our mirrors no longer identify our faces
Our spirits are gone without any traces
Treason disfigured most people
In their veins runs the blood of Abel
Cains are extinct, they no longer exist
Injustice, selfishness and greed persist
Who’s lying and who’s truthful
No one can tell, we are all distrustful

In my own brother, I cannot identify my father
Old times soak the face of my mother
Life is a menial deceitful place
Whoever seeks its glitter gets lost in its maze

What’s the purpose of life if we lose our souls?
How can we live ignoring wisdom’s calls?
Who would we be if we sell our past and present?
Why should we live if tomorrow will never be pleasant?

From pure hearts let new times spring
Like a fresh tone from a violin’s string
Spreading kindness, planting emotions
In chests drowned in sadness oceans

Let us soar high beyond the skies
Let us dream and open our eyes
On a paradise of humanity
Planted with wisdom and sanity
May our dreams hold our backs straight
Till the unknown brings forth what’s great

O life seduce others but the kind
Their hearts aren’t yours to grind
In their eyes, your treasures hold no light
Over your remnants, they will never fight
They live simply with pure intentions
Their deeds are their sole companions
Innocent souls are not yours to take
Spray your poison elsewhere you dirty snake
We have divorced you once and for all
And in your nets, we won’t again fall

Lost Hope

Crushed Heart
By: Ehab Shawky



Like a shredded web,
Life continues to ebb.

Tears falling in the dark,
In hearts dull and stark.

With pains so stern,
With no one to miss or yearn.

Strained by people’s cruelty,
Over-run by dark reality.

A reality full of suffering,
Full of waste and plundering.

Dragging souls over its thorns,
It laughs blowing its horns.

Doors of steel surround the premises,
Murdered feelings lie on dry clematis.

Screams unheard inside,
Sadness in all nooks abide.

 Shreds of dreams pinned to its walls,
Decorating its monstrous halls,

Dangling from the ceiling,
Continuously squealing,

Piercing through my heart,
Tearing it apart.

Can you hear? Can you feel?
I beg you, stop this ordeal.

Will you respond? Will you speak?
Or will matters remain so bleak?

Stop stabbing my heart without killing me;
Stop crushing my soul, I’m done, can’t you see?

I’m not asking for a chance anymore;
The end is what I’m asking for.

I hope for nothing,
I ask to stop living.

I beg you, Let me go;
Upon me, your pardon bestow.

Adrift like a feather in the wind,
Evil, I can no longer fend.

Forlorn by birth,
Labelled “The Wretched of the earth.”

I’m not tired, I’m broken.
Let my pains remain forever unspoken.

Let me return to dust,
I’m done living like rust.

Let me scatter like ash,
I can’t suffer another lash.

Let me depart, I beg you, please;
Let my departure feel like a gentle breeze.

Lost Times

The worst train to miss is the train of life
Time doesn’t work backwards
Written By: Ehab Shawky
Cairo, Egypt



In its motion
time is like a deep ocean
It undulates
with high waves
& whirls
darker than deep caves

In its maze
we flounder
& our souls blaze
Unwillingly, we lost our way
Blinded, gone far astray
Something fell broken within
Feelings turned into a sin
Dreams lost in oblivion
pervaded by sadness alluvion

While days pass by
our wounds continue to cry
We walk above their thorns
listening to their horns
declaring the rise of darkness
in a sky turning starless
tortured by running years
drowned in screams and tears
‘Hope’ no longer floats
‘Why,’ chokes our throats
Speech has turned into silence
Screams heard in their sadness
for lost green hearts
Amidst their torn parts
we search for an old track
unable to find our way back


Lost Generation

To the honest sincere youth of the Middle East who gave their lives defending the people’s right to justice, liberty & a decent life, asking for nothing in return, nor gaining a thing from their sacrifice.

Written By: Ehab Shawky

Carl Wuttke (German, 1849-1927) - Pyramid Scene, 19th. C

Standing firm for honesty,
Holding on to veracity.

In times of lies and illusions,
Ruled by endless confusions.

Alone they insist to strive,
Unstoppable till they thrive.

From one generation to the next,
Viewed as a verse out of context.

They tumble and halt,
Enduring every assault.

They walk and crawl,
Taking fall after fall.

Clinging to a passion,
Asking for no compassion.

Sure of victory,
Smelling its liberty.

Invoking their Lord,
Adhering to his cord.

“Till death,” they pledged.
With legs wedged,
They held their grounds,
Ignoring warning sounds.

“The enemy is too many.
Take allies if any.”

“No, we’ll stand alone.
We’re always on our own.
So we shall continue to be.
We shall fear none, nor shall we flee.
Every day, a new sacrifice.
Our own lives, if they suffice,
Shall gladly be submitted,
Till falsehood is omitted,
Till our enemy breaks,
If that’s what it takes.”


The brave youth noted not,
That traitors continue to plot,
Against their dreams,
Protecting rotten regimes.

The stab came from behind,
By hands so blind.

“O wretched senseless countries,
Why can’t you recognize your own enemies?

We were your dawn,
Your youth, your backbone.

We swallowed your pains,
To inject love in your veins.

We consumed your bitterness,
To give you our sweetness.

Your silence is writing our end,
While our voices die to extend,
Your existence, your life,
May others continue our strife.

Willingly, we wait for our fate,
Willingly, we knock on its gate,
Concealing a pain so vicious,
Submitting our most precious,
May it restore your charm,
May it sound the alarm,
In deaf ears,
Blocked by endless fears.

Now that we are leaving,
You start grieving!
We don’t need your tears,
Nor do we ask for cheers.
We ask you for no price,
But to remember our sacrifice.”


To all Arab rulers, armies, police forces
To all Arab fanatic idiots, whether Muslims, Christians, Jews, or Atheists
To all fake judicial systems, governmental personnel, and mercenaries
To the stars of worthless lousy “art” that is closer to prostitution
To the media all over the globe
To the ‘mass destruction weapons’ manufacturing countries
& biggest terrorists on earth
To all the fake democratic imperialist regimes, and their slave allies
To all traitors, liars, hypocrites, and opportunists
May you all dwell forever and ever together in HELL.