Galal EL-BEHAIRY
Image Credit: Anonymous
Update (7 July 2026): Egyptian poet Galal El-Behairy declared a hunger strike on July 2 over the decision of Badr 1 prison authorities to deny him access to reading and writing materials, including books, as well as clothing. We are gravely concerned over El-Behairy's health and call on the Egyptian authorities to immediately ensure his access to reading and writing materials without restriction, as well as unfettered access to medical care.
Poet and lyricist Galal El-Behairy continued to be held without trial at the end of the year. He has reportedly been tortured in detention. In August, the SSP brought new charges against El-Behairy in two separate cases, which PEN International believe to be fabricated and intended to further extend his unjust incarceration. The new charges, based solely on a 2023 report by National Security officers, include ‘disseminating fake news’ and ‘joining and aiding a terrorist organisation’.
El-Behairy was arrested on 5 March 2018 at Cairo International Airport while attempting to travel abroad, in connection with his lyrics for exiled Egyptian singer Ramy Essam’s song Balaha that was deemed insulting to the president. Charges related to the song were eventually dropped, but he was sentenced to three years in prison in a separate case for allegedly ‘disseminating false news and rumours’ and ‘insulting the Egyptian army’ in his unpublished poetry collection, خير نسوان الأرض The Finest Women on Earth. He has been held arbitrarily since expiry of his sentence in July 2021, facing new charges of ‘disseminating false news’ and ‘joining a terrorist group’ (see Case Lists 2018 - 2025).
In protest at his continued detention and detention conditions, El-Behairy has undertaken several hunger strikes, including between 16 June and 14 August 2025. El-Behairy’s family has informed PEN International that his health has significantly deteriorated due to his imprisonment, poor prison conditions, lack of adequate medical care, and prolonged hunger strikes. He suffers from high blood pressure, joint pain, heart problems and a tumour in his jaw. His mental health has severely deteriorated in recent years and he has attempted to commit suicide. PEN International has constantly campaigned for his release, including by highlighting his detention on the 2019 Day of the Imprisoned Writer.
Galal El-Behairy, born on 27 June 1990, is a poet and lyricist known for critical views of the Egyptian authorities. Two collections of his poetry have been published: Masna’a El Karasy (The Chair Factory, 2015) and Segn Bel Alwan (Colorful Prison, 2017).
Read Galal's words
-
My dear Egypt,
How are you? I miss you. I know there are reasons why you haven't been in touch... I’m a bit upset with you—though not too upset... I hesitated a lot before writing to you because, honestly, I don’t know your address. Besides, I was told that many people write to you, but you never reply...
I know you always find a way to be beautiful... even when you aren't doing so well. I know this particular rough patch has dragged on a bit... but then again, it’s neither the first nor the last. As for my address—well, you know it... Yes, it’s that place surrounded by so much noise these days. We’re doing fine, though... You know how it is: many trample on us, yet here we remain—smiling and saying, "It’s all worth it for your sake, my dear."
So, why am I writing to you now? Because today I turned 36—even though I remember that, before this nightmare began, I was waiting for my 28th birthday... but it never came. They stole it from me. Eight years, three months, and twenty-two days. I swear to God, I’m not upset—or at least, not very upset—but I never got enough of you, and I have only met you once, fifteen years ago.
That day, you were so beautiful, so kind, and so strong. I don’t know if I will ever see you again—but if I don’t, I kiss your hands and ask you to send my regards to all those dear to me: especially the third-class passengers, the booksellers at Al-Nabi Daniel Street,1 and at Azbakeya [Wall Book Market],2 Mohamed Hashem,3 Sonallah Ibrahim,4 and the Benha Corniche—please, I miss it so much. My regards, too, to all the schoolchildren, the master craftsmen, workers, and everyone.
Finally... I know circumstances kept you from wishing me a happy birthday, but I wanted to tease and chat with you—even if you’re giving me the silent treatment. I know we could never truly turn our backs on each other.
I love you.
Galal – Badr Prison
June 27, 2026
-
Today is my birthday,
Half passed,
Half died,
Half slipped through my fingers in silence,
untouched, without a breath,
Half had passed,
Nothing remains of the day but a mirage,
reflecting in my soul’s mirror, in the body
in time that carves me slowly
Like a tombstone
A half, complete
A half, done
Yet, the rest is ultimate proof of what had withered.
---------
It’s a night like all others,
It did not differ
but of its bleak blackness,
The prison doors are like prisons,
Only widens to narrow back again
Another dream burns between my fingers,
burns in my ribs, a bitter flame
It was my birthday tonight,
I wish I had been able to catch it
If I caught it .. unrestrained … free.
There were no candles.
Nor singing.
Not even a discordant note amidst the song—
yet, I was happy.
There was no mirror,
to gaze at and notice,
the creeping whites in my beard,
for whom the blacks,
slowly yielded, defeated.
My beloved walks in, saying:
“Why the grim face?
smile, my dear,
It’s a party”
But there was no party.
No smiling faces.
No star falling from the sky,
to make way for a wish,
in my innocent heart.
And there was no journey on the road.
No barge to the shoulder,
after a wink from a friend:
"there’s an angel there, waiting for someone to keep her company."
He said, "Go on, make your move.
get up and go to her;
be bold."
But the truth is...
Nothing happened.
It was a night like all others,
except that...
when it ended,
things stirred—
very old things
I thought they long passed and gone.
Among them:
hope that failed me.
Me, who thought
I had lost the very last bit of it,
on the doorstep of the last prison.
Hope failed me.
A childish frustration,
for not receiving wonderful gifts.
For all gifts are wonderful.
And at not hearing,
everyone’s compliments,
about how the time that has passed
pales in comparison to what is yet to come;
and how there is still so much to life—
things perhaps fated since the dawn of time,
and no one shall ever have them, but me;
and how I am a thousand years younger
than that number suggests,
with a thousand years of life ahead of me;
and all that echoes.. these very thoughts.
It was a night that passed anyway,
not a word spoken.
Oh, little child—
Who else but me, my friend...
would be astonished
at how small you are,
and that you are safe and sound?
The night passed—my little one— quietly
bringing sorrow, yes,
but a silent and quiet sorrow.
Yet as for me...
my heart has been gnawed by the years.
Don't drag me along with you.
A year from tonight—
or a few years after that—
it will be a time,
and a place...
...that won’t be here.
There will be smiling faces,
and a star descending from the sky,
to make way for a wish,
in my innocent heart.
There will be a path
With fresh footsteps—
steps we never took.
And then...
an empty old frame
may be filled by
a memory
we never lived.
---
Translated by Mina Thabet