his name is gabriel. he has the greenest eyes
i’ve ever seen, the softest hair i’ve ever touched,
and a voice that, in a world where we’re gods,
can awaken wilting flowers and move the skies.

and i’m always listening to gabriel’s voice;
at first, it’s back in our local highschool,
where miss razan silences us and asks us
to close our eyes so we can listen to gabriel’s soul.

time passes and we’re grown ups,
local boys turned men,
secret lovers hanging onto an edge.
and i still hear his soul.

in sunday mornings, before the choir arrives,
we meet at church, he sits on my piano,
sings about heaven and god, while i press the keys
and lean up to kiss his lips when a note goes wrong.

right next door is the nightclub we work in,
i pour drinks, and gabriel sings of worshipping
a better god. angry drunks call it blasphemy,
but i believe that he is just loving me.

i wake up to his green eyes, bed hair, his family,
prayers under his roof, love over the roof;
things are getting worse at my house,
and i hope my stay here is temporary.

and it is, because his mother kicks me out
the day we hear the news. gabriel isn’t alive;
angry that he sings of worshipping a different god,
they force him to meet their own god in the skies.

time passes and he doesn’t grow,
local boy forever young,
a widow without a proof of love,
but i still hear his soul.

i get lost in the streets of beirut,
finding myself seeking every corner
his laughter and words and lyrics once lived in,
but i never hear his voice again.

only his soul.

i don't know what happens to me
but i know that people sing his songs
and his soul lives on and on,
and they forget the real story —

leaving both of gabriel and me in a dusty alley
between the church and nightclub we fell in love in.)