I always have a dream
Flowing into my veins like a stream

Throughout my life I wander about
Having deep faith to reach it, no doubt

I always keep it in my heart and mind
I am sure one day I will get it and find

I dream of a new world with no pain
A peaceful world, not insane

I dream of a world  full of peace and love
Where birds never stop singing and fluttering above

I dream of a world where lovers never separate
Forever together united by fate

I dream of a world full of trees and flowers
Where love, peace and brotherhood its only powers

I dream all people in one language they all speak
Where love ties and peaceful relations never break

I dream the world becomes fair and just
Where wars and conflicts become a very far past

I dream all people have the same feelings
All people become true human beings

I hope my dream comes true one day
And  "peace" becomes the only word people can say

As you want, be mad
Hurt my feelings, you once had

Break the vases and mirror together
Threaten to love another

It is nothing, whatever you say
Whatever you do, no attention I pay

You are like kids, my lover
Even if you hurt me, I will love you forever

On being mad, how wonderful you are!
Without waves or sky, there wouldn't be sea or star

Stormy or angry, forever will be
My heart is the forgiveness you see

Be mad, will never answer you with defy
Never answer despite your shouts and cry

You are just a kid full of vanity
And birds never punish their kids but always show pity

If I am boring, just desert me
And accuse me, fate and destiny

Too many tears and too much grief by my side
Keeping silence is pride, grief is pride

If you are too tired to stay
Life is full of black and green eyed girls to play

When you need to see me
When you miss my affection to see

Come back to my heart, just try
In my life, you are the air, the land and sky

Be mad whenever you desire
Then go and let me taste fire

But one day you must come back and know
Loyalty is me and God created me for you

My youth? Long gone,
and the now-young
have slashed their veins.

Our heady days are ash,
the wilderness of our dreams
has vanished like a mirage,

night smashed our hope, and we
had to swallow all that.
That’s destiny for you.

Why gather in the world
of yearning? Why not keep
us apart? Don’t ask me

how we got lost;
we were mixed up back then,
living love one day,

missing it the next,
so don’t blame me if I turn
our life into song: I live

in the poem’s ever-stream.
Do you see the clump of days
left like flowers in the night?

Don’t be like roses people
toss in the streets the way night
did us, destiny’s playthings.

Despite the map of my wounds,
I got lost. Despite the gag
of the past, I’ll sing on.

Innocence can’t survive these times, so I come to love you
before the void. We dreamed of a haven for refugees,
shelter for birds, water for palms. We watched spring turn to ash,

the sun burn itself away, the river of wine become blood.
The edge of my own pride was both border and blade.
Just look at how my hand can close.

But your love is my shade and my Nile,
and the ragged path of hope is still a path.
Come—we still dream within weariness.

Come—any day’s light is still daylight,
and at night the moon still beams.
Love, we are pure revelation.

Love threads every agony, kindles the lost.
Consider: if I pulled the shutters, and squandered the faith
that made me, would that grieving quell anguish?

Since our eyes are pale night, faint light, let’s send fire
into the abyss, shout in the impossible silence,
and weave a new image of leave-taking.

Inside their tombs, our martyrs are whispering,
Oh God, we are coming back.

On land they are lifting their hands,
and their voices grow in the silence of the grave:
Oh God, we are coming back.

Stones fall, ashes rise, and their eyes beam,
Oh God, we are coming back.

Our martyrs stepped out of their coffins,
lined up and raised the shout:
Shame on you cowards.
Our home is sold, our nation
a herd of sheep, and you sleep.

Our martyrs travel to Al Aqsa Mosque,
they pray in the churches of Lebanon,
they wander the streets of Jerusalem,
they break into prisons in every land.

They rise from the ashes of the captive home
and preach on every corner of a beaten nation.

They call in the midst of massacres,
God is greater than this man-made world,
God is greater than this man-made world,
God is greater than this man-made world.

Our martyrs are approaching, their shouts echoing
on the walls of Beirut. They gather in the streets
to fight in darkness despite the pale light.

In homes bound by humiliation and madness, they call,
Oh God we are coming back.
One day our coffins will light all of Jerusalem.

They are coming back to break into the castle.



On every corner, they ask the cowards,
Why did you tolerate the wolf, sleeping
amidst sheep, a home as whole as the universe
auctioned off, overrun with rats?

Cowards who sold out our broken home,
our living ancestors, there you are
on the screen, drunk in the fuss,
walking Death, hypocrisy, and control,
we will rid our holy dead of you,
and of the irony of the age.

Oh God we are coming back.

Don’t believe that people killed
in a battle for God are dead,
they are still alive in God.

*

Our martyrs, roaring on every corner of the land,
streams of them asking,
Oh living, what are you doing?

Every day you’re double-crossed and slain
like sheep, surrendering your rights,
running like rats to the wolves,
leaving your people weeping

while you are prostrate before America’s
dollars and the images on screen.

Rats in all sorts of compromising ways.

And in the mad laughter of calamity,
a nation is sold into collapse.

Two images collapse into one:

while kneeling,
your heads under their shoes,
and our Arab Jerusalem,
given to wolves by the drunken.



With Lebanon adrift in blood, and tyranny
on the prowl, our martyrs shout
from every corner, Does honor
have a place? Where have the rebels
disappeared? Why have the sellouts fled?

The silent, the forgetful, and the two-tongued
all keep their mouths shut.
If you ask, they give you official nonsense.
If you ask, you get a bullet in the eye.

*

When you march in the parade of commerce
you wind up sold. History shows traitors
no mercy. The flood washes
over all of you chasing death
with the ad-man chasing you
to sell you tomorrow in the slave market.

Our priests are oblivious in their seats,
drunk on the power of reign and rule.

Our people in prison-darkness. All of them asleep.

When do the sleeping awaken?
When the sleeping wake.

I carried all I had through the tangled night, blaming the road
that spurred me backward to green windows, witness

to the hunger of our bodies, witness to the underside
of forever. Alone now in the road’s slow night,

I re-sense the first days’ blush, the flash
of your hand in mine: how do you bear all that is past?

Such bluff inside my boast: I will forget you.
I try to move on, but a shadow slides along, chiding that folly.

Beside the road, pale light seeps into yellow tulips,
and I quicken for what is lost: youth, freedom, dreams.

Aimless, I stare at the ground until dizziness takes me.
Somewhere in the dust of these empty streets where we began:

the warmth of our hands. Somewhere in this dust
our savoring footsteps, somewhere my roving tears.

Like the endless road, my story is here and there at once.
Can I resist the was that beckons? Shall I continue alone?

As your memory strums the chord in my chest,
the threads of my journey unravel, unravel.

You are lamenting love that left one day
for the world of the impossible.

It was a dream, but is there anything
except illusion and make-believe anyway?

Our life is a summer cloud’s thick shade.

You lament love’s autumn folds,
and the division of all we shared.

Who said anything lasts?  Hopes melt
and a sole question remains: Why enter my life

if dreams only turn to sand,
heat-haze blurring into heat-haze?