"Did you hear the news 'Te-ta' (grandmother in Egyptian dialect)? said a middle aged man smiling as he spoke into his mobile phone. "We did it! This is an 'eid' night!"

Joy, relief and anticipation filled Tahrir Square last night, that is until Mubarak's speech. The singing, the chants, and the beehive-like movement all came to a standstill as Mubarak's voice boomed out over the square. The air taut with anticipation, a "shush!" hissed every now and then to the left and to the right silencing anyone who dared disturb what was expected to be the historical moment everyone had waited for.  The moment did not come.

Hours past midnight as the thick crowds directed by volunteers flowed staggeringly toward Tahrir's exits, a man in his 50s standing on a small boulder, his arms in the air, passionately shouted: "Do not despair! Do not give up! Hold that hope tight in your fists and close to your hearts."

"Thirty years to get here, 'malesh' (it's ok), even if it takes us months, it's ok this is how it happens. And we will make it happen. We will be here tomorrow! We won't leave until he leaves!" the man said.

"From your mouth to the heavens," answered a middle-age mother moving along with her daughters in the crowd, each hand of theirs in one of hers.

"Ya Rab" (oh God)!" called out a young man, a huge Egyptian flag totally crowning his head. "Ya Rab!" the crowd cried out after him. "Ya Rab!" he cried back, his arms arched toward the night sky, eyes closed, tears trickling down his red face and his head turned upward.

"Ya Rab!" the masses around him all moving out of Tahrir called back, their faces following their cries to God.

"Ya Rab!" His voice, torn with emotion, was strained but heard. "Ya Rab!" - the people's voices carrying his prayer, the prayers of millions, faded out into the surrounding Cairo streets; a word, a promise to be kept for another tomorrow.