As we sailed through the new year in the midst of brutal crimes and illegal wars and bloodshed, we realise spring is already here.
While humanity is engaged in destruction, the quiet, persistent renewal of nature continues. Like it or not, spring follows winter — not out of choice, but inevitable necessity. It is nature’s relentless and unstoppable cycle of renewal and rebirth. Even in the darkest times nature surges ahead, indifferent to human turmoil, despair and destruction. Nature offers “neither sympathy nor malice”, only existence.
The stars do not notice our wars, neither does the sun. Nature continues its march, indifferent to human suffering. How do we humans fare this sharp, stabbing fracture in the chest, this aching emptiness that suffocates every breath, that silent roar of a breaking heart? How do we survive? We survive.
The human ability to survive is one of the most remarkable aspects of our existence. Like nature, we endure, rooted in necessity, survival and the physical law of nature. We are indeed, stronger than we think. As Marcus Aurelius said: “We suffer more in imagination than in reality.”
Spring is here — resilient, strong and stubborn, indifferent to human conflict. As wars rage, here is the greening of the grass, the blossoming of the buds and the chirruping of the birds.
We may not hear the songs of spring. What we hear are the disturbing sounds of booms and bangs — the buzzing noise of drones and bombs, the crackling of gunfire, the whistling and screeching of sirens and rockets. The screams and shouts of crying children drown the music of the singing birds. Better to hear eerie silence to the roaring flames of burning fire. Yet we do survive the absence of spring songs, as we survey life on earth and hope in our hearts.
British poet Sara Teasdale, (18841933), captured the contrast of the delicate beauty of spring with the devastation of war, emphasising nature’s indifference to human conflict, in her 1917 work, “Spring in War-Time”. In her famous poem “There Will Come Soft Rains”, questions how spring can arrive in a world filled with “deep grief” and “new graves”, much as we do now, a hundred years later.
In her poem, written during World War I, Teasdale too wonders if mankind perished, would nature care? Birds, trees and spring itself “would not care or even know we were gone”.
Indeed, nature is unaffected by the waste of war and though we object fiercely we too are forced by our genetic instinct to live and survive grief and destruction, the ravages of war and the loss of life.
They may have stolen our spring songs, but we have braved through life despite fear and adversity. Better yet, we have embraced our lives with courage and persistence. We celebrated our holy month of Ramadan, while fasting our Christian Lent season — we observe our solemn Easter with dignity and respect.
Throughout our April spring, instead of songs we were drowned by the cacophonous “Trumpist” noises of global tension. History has seen April as a month of endless fears, with shifting threats, ceasefires and drumbeats of war, blockades and widespread anxiety in Lebanon, Iran, the Gulf, the Middle East, the whole world at large, yet April remains the birth of spring. Nature waits for no permission for the flowers to bloom.
Egypt would not wait for the breezes of spring. Let the stupidity of US foreign policy with its threats of military intervention and the sound of fury of war, we continue to celebrate spring.
Perhaps one of the oldest festivals celebrating spring, is Egypt’s Sham Al-Nessim, literally meaning smelling the breeze. It is a national, secular holiday celebrated by all Egyptians, regardless of religious affiliation, to mark the beginning of spring. Ancient Egyptians welcomed spring by honouring the sun, life and renewal. Its roots date back to 2700 BC, predating both Christianity and Islam.
The festival was called Shemu, much like the present name of Sham Al-Nessim. Through the centuries as Egypt became Christian, (Coptic), a Coptic derivation could be Tshom Ni Sime, meaning gardens and meadows. With Islam’s conversion, the name became Arabicised, from Shemu, to Shom, meaning inhaling or smelling the breeze, or taking in the zephyrs, describing the practice of enjoying the coming of spring.
The tradition of offering to the gods of the Nile salted fermented fish or feseekh has remained almost identical for over 4500 years.
As for the affinity for eggs, the ancient Egyptians regarded eggs as symbols of rebirth and the beginning of creation. They often wrote wishes or prayers on eggshells and hung them in baskets from trees or temple roofs, believing the sun’s first rays would grant them. Eggs were buried in in their tombs and were crucial in funerary practices. The egg in Egypt represented the primordial egg from which Ra, the sun god emerged, making it a powerful symbol of life as well as life after death.
Faberge eggs became famous but eggs in Egypt are the profound symbols of life, resurrection and eternal life.
Spring is not just a season it is nature’s stubborn refusal to be defeated by winter or war.
Despite the loud and angry “trumpets”, the renewal of springtime in April is an inevitable force.
Despite the chaos and confusion, despite the beat of the drums, we can still hear a song for spring.
“When war breaks out, people say: “It won’t last, it’s too stupid. And war is certainly too stupid, but that doesn’t prevent it from lasting.”
Albert Camus, (1913-1960)
* A version of this article appears in print in the 16 April, 2026 edition of Al-Ahram Weekly.
Short link: