Beirut, I’m sorry

Let’s talk – Let’s discuss,

A subject that has subjected us to subjugation,

A colossal joke played on the Lebanese population,

The presidency has been void for the past two years,

But our politicians are still – sitting in for the grand “negotiations”,

We’ve let ourselves drown in the fables,

of our increasingly inconvenient congregation,

No – that’s a lie

The truth is, the Lebanese admit to have become desensitized –

Helpless in the face of the few who now hold the family names

Of the ones who held power in office back in 1938 –

“Either there is a National Charter, or there is no Lebanon!”

That’s a chant all FPM supporters waved orange flags to and reported,

That the country needs to abide by that unwritten agreement that denoted,

That it’s all about equality in parliament and office,

Hmm.

As a matter of truth, the history of independent Lebanon since “The charter”

Bears witness to the fact that the principles of this Pact are far less contentious,

Than the rigid proportionality it suggests – let us realize,

This national pact stands from 1943!

It was unwritten then, is unwritten still –

and stands ridiculously – VALID?

No room for misunderstandings,

We – the population – do indulge in politics, an abstemious diet –

It’s not like we’re demanding,

reform –

No, we’re not angry,

Though 70% of the population sits hungry,

Awaiting the decisions of the politicians, who can’t seem to fit enough cash in their pockets.

Meanwhile,

Right next door, Syria and its’ people are falling,

As a consequence of the US and Russia’s ignorant brawling,

Our other next door neighbor is Israel –

Oups excuse my ignorance

It’s actually occupied Palestine.

Over there, the slaughter of children is not regarded as a crime,

It’s their religious right, a virtue.

So as you see, there’s nowhere to go from here,

We’re trapped between war, war and water.

Does anyone care about voting nowadays?

Shit that’s some first world problems,

What kind of a question is that to ask a people who don’t have rights and are most jobless.

Here, the people are drowning in trash – in disease – in malady,

We have no access to electricity,

NO CLEAN WATER –

Who cares about voting when –

The educated 10% are being forced to migrate in search of opportunity and right-

Leaving this country in the hands of the ones who would rather teach their children how to fire a gun rather than how to read and write.

But who cares –

It’s the middle east and we’re all just pawns in the greater plan of the west

Puppeteered by the blinding folds of “religion”

For the heart is only as great as the solider who butchers it,

Clutches it in the palm of disorder – in the name of god,

It’s horrible.

How numb we have become –

The only strength we find stem from angry scribbles we bleed onto tired pages –

That get most journalists who fight for the freedom of press, and for order –

Dead – bombed and slaughtered.

Reform my fellow citizens is a far away dream with no color,

I’m sorry Beirut, you have given me so much,

But all I can give back is my middle finger on the plane that is taking off to far, far, away.

I’m depleted,

Fighting for this place has proved to be a lost cause,

So I’m leaving.

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Dislocated thoughts.

I’ve been looking for a home –

I’ve grown tired and weary from searching

I often find myself gnawing at desperation – for some solace and rest

Evidently I’ve made my comfort unnecessary –

Still, I’ve been searching for a home, and like a dog left out in the cold,

I neglect to realize, that my bones – hold me up as such.

I’ve been rummaging through my thoughts –

I run around myself in circles to the point of exhaustion – and to no avail.

Let myself drown in my ambition’s bitter crimes –

And my heart roars on, both in its confusion and in its stillness –

And the sirens still sing to the boys with lost souls, and how I wish they would sing to mine.

I’ve been looking for a home,

Echoes of disappointments bounce off the corners off my mind, and to no avail –

My home awaits me in solitude,

But I am determined to fail –

I’ve been looking for a home – and to no avail.

Reason never seems to come to the guilty – and how I’ve let myself go.

It devours me and I laugh.

It is, simply put – a cry for attention, a desperate plea for love.

This melancholia pulls me in, and I laugh.

It is purely out of my own selfish desires that I can love you.

Your lips call for me and I raw with lust,

I heed to your commands, I kneel at your altar –

To taste the flesh, I beg for the munificent currents –

On my knees, you grab me by the collar –

I bite that which feeds me –

I nibble; your heavy breathing fills the halls –

And I laugh.

Courting insanity brings forth a sly and terrifying satisfaction,

A vivacious moan of life and death colliding –

An anxious look over the shoulder,

I breathe you in, and you now – as I,

Look for a home – and to no avail.

But darling,  we fail to realize –

How we lay in our lover’s eyes –

And this cold darkness goes on forever and we are alone.

All looking for our homes – and to no avail –

Desperate to collapse – a generation of aspiring failures –

Looking onto each other – parched for love.

Roaming endlessly, with no god above –

To grant us revelations – there’s nothing here.

Embrace me, here we are together –

In this way we are coiled,

This is our home, here, together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Gasp for Air.

Whispers further pollute the dense atmosphere

A child with no shoes glances my way

She touches me and I quiver.

Visions of diseased livestock handicap the minds of the mad,

Retreat, find refuge in comforting arms,

Keep me safe, away from harm.

She moans and I cringe,

Concupiscence and perversion collide to create,

A sick lovechild dubbed desire.

She was a long way from home,

Anxious for solitude,

With nowhere to hide,

But the munificent warmth of a familiar stranger.

A solicitous scent,

A ravaging gasp for air,

Perfused with a razed rancor,

A bitterness, the taste of copper.

A moment of weakness deduced;

The havoc of morals,

The demolition of dignity.

You see my darling,

These tender obscenities give way to the unveiling of our own inhibitions,

Of the twisted fantasies that entertain our thoughts,

Oh, how they materialize,

A tragic release of burden,

Another gasp for air.

Conceal me from the sights of this city,

From the scents of this city,

From the sounds of this city.

It rots,

As I rot,

As we rot,

As we slowly dig deeper into the earth,

As we steadily make our way,

To our demanding tomb,

To our mindful unrest,

To our suffocating sympathies,

To yet another, gasp for air.

22.06.2015

Today I lost myself in the racket of the city,
At first the sounds were shy,
But they soon lost their inhibitions.
The noise was overwhelming,
It brought on more tension,
To my already beleaguered mind.
I have come to understand Roquentin,
I must be like him;
For my suffering is rhythmic.

I am disoriented and dazed,
I am surely becoming unhinged.
For the noises that I could once identify,
Now form a clamor,
Terrible echoes of roaring indignant cages,
Of reptiles that slither onto each other,
Leaving no room for breath.
I can feel the ground under me shift and tremble,
My mind thinks in patterns,
Interrupted.

Breathe it in,
All the humanity in you,
Exhale rings of smoke,
Relax darling,
For we are all slowly dying.
I try to recollect my thoughts,
I try to reassemble myself,
It proves to be too difficult a task,
For parts of me are scattered around many rooms, in many places.
My lungs demand another drag,
I can almost see the nicotine blotches that stain my insides,
One of which resembles a woman,
Disrobing till bare.
She is magnetizing,
Hypnotizing,
Raw.
She looks into my soul and I die faster still,
This face, this body,
It is all too familiar,
It is you, my beloved.
You have come to chase my demons away, once more.

Come now, my love.

Come now my love,

Follow me down this dim-lit staircase,

That will lead us to empty bottles and frail hearts.

Come now my love,

We shall dance with each other,

our souls would make love.

The gods will envy our passion,

but they would not curse it,

no- they will not curse us.

The fools trance around, but don’t touch us.

You and I, my love,

are in a daze.

We are all that remains in each others’ worlds.

Come now my love,

Lay your head on my shoulder,

Sway with my inadequacies,

Tell me that I am whole- that i am,

as you wish me to be;

As you are – holy and sacred to me,

Come with me my love,

Let us paint with the lights and the sounds of this forsaken city,

Let us play with the sand that once burnt our feet,

But now the sun is low and sweet,

Sweet, sweet as you and I, my love,

And soon the dark will flirt with the day,

It will produce the colors of the dusk, my love,

The colors of the world, our souls.

I fear you my love,

The power you have over me,

I fear the glance of mistrust and disappointment.

Come with me my love,

Let us create the mistakes that will leave us with

scars and marks and scabs,

Take this breath from me my love,

A deep gulp of air,

before we drown in each other.

My love, the stairs fade into the darkness,

We must fare cautiously, for we could fall,

My love, we could fall and drown and choke and break,

And we will cry and yell and scream,

And the once envious gods will laugh at our fates,

As we provide the perfect narrative,

Of a poisonous passion,

Performed on a dim lit staircase, my love.

That will lead us to empty bottles and frail hearts,

That will give the sadistic gods the satisfaction of witnessing,

A tale of wasted lives, tainted hopes, and broken dreams,

My love,

It’s irrelevant you see,

We are destined to fail.

But do please ignore my ramblings,

For I have chosen you, my love.

Come with me, follow me down,

This dim lit staircase,

For empty bottles and frail hearts,

wait for us in anticipation,

my love.

*

“..They had only one day in which to smooth away their wrinkles, their crow’s-feet, the bitter lines made by their work during the week. Only one day. They could feel the minutes flowing between their fingers; would they have time to stock up enough youth to start afresh on Monday morning? ” Nausea – Sartre