Lost amidst a hundreds of me
I squeeze myself for me to see
Plains, mountains, waters of the sea
Gaze up and wonder, “Why not free”
I hush back at them “Let me be”

Loud winds tickle me with shivers
Alike the sight of mad rivers
I keep tight of fear I slither
To a land that has no giver
I cry out “I shall not wither”

Glued aside by rebuking rain
My once beholder claims in pain
The need to set loose its dense stain
“I served thee…” I longed to complain…
“…Cold and wet,” yet all lost in vain

Here I’m blown by wondrous echoes
So swift to a place so hollow
Across vast reefs and wild meadows
To hide is to keep me shallow
I rise again “Hear my sorrow”

    NHH                  "Plume"

An easy recipe for you and me
1, 2 and 3 steps is all it takes

Chopped nuts of first degree
Spread amidst the moist bakes

Chewy…fudgie…is the key
To making the stomach aches

NHH                   "Plume"

To many, they are sweet surrenders
To some, eruptions from boiling wonders

What have we to taste but crunchy doughs
Fried hot as each dives in and flows

One by one they float above sugary sap
Dipped and glazed with cheers and a clap

A name for lokaimat and a cry for bites
Sweet ***** is worth the delights

          NHH                                          ­"Plume"

You glare at me
With eyes that won’t see
The deep meanings not yet set free

I look to the inside of you
A stranger whose time is due
Lost and wild in one’s own view

Frowns, smiles, and tears flow
Like ****** stemming underneath the snow
But you keep steady, yet tired and slow

“Halt now,” I dare speak out
My words to you are of no sprout
Your own make no sound even in a shout

I long for that some one
Whose praise of life is still undone
Whose long waits turn boredom into fun

I stare back to break the bond
Unleash the tie…I am no fond
I claim back the ripples of my pond

                          NHH                                            "Plume"

In memory of an unmemorable 4th of August
On a once calm, but malicious day of 2020
Eyes were blinded by unforgivable eruptions
That stormed its rage alongshore Beirut
Banging down the mightiest of towers
Too overwhelming to be recognizably real
Too agonizing to be tolerably sensible
All witness bodies of wandering souls
Of victims heaped beneath breathless rubble
Of dust streams escaping through mindless erections

In memory of an aching 4th of August
From an unknown hour, as an alarming clock strikes six-o-eight
Ears were deafened by voiceless sobs
Of too many people chained in abominable wounds
Echoing thunders through audacious streets
Such a calamity we had to endure
Such a misery we are destined to co-opt
Each would rise again in delirium
In fervor for a melodrama
In search for the shielded guilty

In memory of a treacherous 4th of August
After a long-lost year in mourning distress
Six-o-eight is vividly reborn when
Hand-in-hand all stand upright
Weak but willful for a cause
Tormented yet woven in hope
To walk the walls of beloved Beirut
To carry up high its bleeding flags
To soothe spoken words of a sorrowful mother
“Death is my hope that shall take me to my son”

In memory of a promising 4th of August
The six-o-eight shall ring its bell
And scream “Hail down to the defendants!”


           NHH                                                              ­     "Plume"