"beirut" poems
The Story
by Kamal Nasser
translation by Michael R. Burch
I will tell you a story ...
a story that lived in the dreams of my people,
a story that comes from the world of tents.
It is a story inspired by hunger and embellished by dark nights of terror.
It is the story of my country, a handful of refugees.
Every twenty of them have a pound of flour between them
and a few promises of relief ... gifts and parcels.
It is the story of the suffering ones
who stood waiting in line ten years,
in hunger,
in tears and agony,
in hardship and yearning.
It is a story of a people who were misled,
who were thrown into the mazes of the years.
And yet they stood defiant,
disrobed yet united
as they trudged from the light to their tents:
the revolution of return
into the world of darkness.
Kamal Nasser was a much-admired Palestinian poet and Palestinian Christian, who due to his renowned integrity was known as "The Conscience." He was a member of Jordan's parliament in 1956. He was murdered in 1973 by an Israeli death squad whose most notorious member was future Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Barak. Barak (born Ehud Brog) later ruled as Israel’s tenth Prime Minister from 1999 to 2001. His adopted Hebrew name Barak means "lightning." As a younger man, Brog/Barak was a member of a secret assassination unit that liquidated Palestinians in Lebanon and the occupied territories. In the 1973 covert mission Operation Spring of Youth in Beirut, which was part of the larger Operation Wrath of God, he disguised himself as a woman in order to assassinate Palestinians. The raid resulted in the deaths of two women, one of them an elderly Italian. Two Lebanese policemen were also killed, along with the poet Kamal Nasser.
Nasser was the PLO's most prominent Christian and he enjoyed "great appeal" in Lebanon, Syria, and Iraq "both as a distinguished poet and likeable personality." He was the “conscience of the Palestinian revolution,” according to Nazih Abul-Nidal, who worked with him on the magazine Filastin al-Thawra. Nasser “had the most democratic outlook of all Palestinian leaders at the time,” he recalls. He respected opposing views, admired the commitment of young people, and was a major recruitment asset for the Palestinian revolution. “That is why he was put high on the hit-list.” The previous year, the Israelis had murdered another renowned Palestinian writer and activist in Beirut, Ghassan Kanafani, by booby-trapping his car. Nasser’s successor, Majed Abu Sharar, was also assassinated by Israelis, in Rome in 1981 while attending a conference in solidarity with the Palestinian people.
Keywords/Tags: Kamal Nasser, Palestinian, Palestine, PLO, Conscience, Ramallah, Christian, religion, poet, Arab, Arabic, Arab Spring, betrayal, conflict, courage, devotion
Dec 9, 2021
Dec 9, 2021 at 7:55 AM UTC
Take the knapsacks
and the utensils and washtubs
and the books of the Koran
and the army fatigues
and the tall tales and the torn soul
and whatever's left, bread or meat,
and kids running around like chickens in the village.
How many children do you have?
How many children did you have?
It's hard to keep tabs on kids in a situation like this.
Not like in the old country
in the shade of the mosque and the fig tree,
when the children the children would be shooed outside by day
and put to bed at night.
Put whatever isn't fragile into sacks,
clothes and blankets and bedding and diapers
and something for a souvenir
like a shiny artillery shell perhaps,
or some kind of useful tool,
and the babies with rheumy eyes
and the R.P.G. kids.
We want to see you in the water, sailing aimlessly
with no harbor and no shore.
You won't be accepted anywhere
You are banished human beings.
You are people who don't count
You are people who aren't needed
You are a pinch of lice
stinging and itching
to madness.
Translated from the original Hebrew by Karen Alkalay-Gut.
6.8k
my cousin liked to have breakfast
at an open air café, with his fiancée, on Fridays
the owner knew she loved French breads, having
been schooled at the Sorbonne
the bakery made them at his behest
he would tell his staff to keep one for her
and to bring a bag when served;
she always saved half for later
rush hour was madder than usual
that night, until the bombs blasted
and brought the synovial silence that comes
in the wake of wondering, what
has happened?
the sirens screamed soon enough
and my cousin smelled the smoke
cordite, yes, but burnt baklava,
Maamoul as well
his fiancée came to him that night
watched and waited to hear if anyone they knew
was lost, their hands clasped tight, breaths shallow,
in the languid hush after the city slowed
to its mournful rest
the sun rose, the skies clear, crisp, to their surprise,
and they went to the café, where the owner apologized
for the wicked, wicked world, and for not having baguettes
after the bakery died
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC
Sundays are my favourite days,
Beirut mornings to coax a smile
Get drunk and dressed with
Mr. Vernon; light a cigarette
And laugh at the irony
This Sunday though,
I am in a sundaze;
with no full moon to look upon
And only a mournful quarter
rotted with black cloud
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
Imagine if the nativity
Took place now instead of then
With technological advancement
It'd be on the news at ten
In fact it would make youtube
A film clip at the stable
Taken by a shepherd boy
Underneath a table
The three wisemen would go on Skype
The gifts would be en route
No need to travel all the way
With the traffic in Beirut
Phone banks would be all set up
To raise funds for the birth
The internet would be a buzz
With the greatest news on earth
No camels, inns or drummer boys
There'd be no one there at all
The Angel of The Lord would be
Black Friday shopping at the mall
In fact I do not think that it
Would be a deal that we would follow
Social media and the press
Would make it all seem hollow
I'm glad it happened when it did
As time has come to pass
With Jesus in a manger
And wisemen there en masse
I don't think it'd be Christmas
If Christ was born today
Without a cd or a movie deal
Or a sport that he would play
Christmas is...and always will
Be the story we were told
I'm glad it didn't happen now
If I may be quite so bold
Unto man a child was born
And he, the son of God....
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Eratic Plastic Dysphemistic Euphemisms
the rain in Spain
falls mainly on the plain
while the dome in Rome
is a place to call home
and the gazoot in Beirut
is in cahoot
with the Neo in Reo
and his brother Theo
and Levi in Shanghai
munches blueberry pie
the roast on the coast
has been burnt like the toast
and my frog on the log
barks like a dog
its a pity how gritty
it is in ** Chi Minh City
never challange Mr Wong to play ping pong
in Hong Kong
or smoke a bowl with a mole
in old town Seoul
or the gendarme will storm
the crowd in Pittsburgh
Gomer LePoet...
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC
Friday ****** Friday
They cried for you, asked forgiveness
Noises sang, and woke people from their naps
Noises those who belong to explosion
people blinded by religion
But if such existed there would be no poor people asking for pennies
Paris, city of love
For Friday only created silence and pain
This silence that was off by sounds of machine guns
Beirut, a city that bombs interrupted
Baghdad, a city that god corrupted
Traitorous religions.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
My land has been ripped.
Its seeds trapped beneath
cinders of ash and rock.
Its root suffocating.
Its branches
no longer branches,
and its buds weeping
somewhere along the edge
of heaven looking
down upon bent cities
mourning those whose
flesh are screaming
to kiss the innocent
skin-like fingernails
of newborn children who
have been burned to death.
And the children!
Oh! The children!
They are sealed within
the winds that dance along
Lebanons green motherly lands
as the embers and crumbs whistle
an eerie tune through the
emptiness of the streets;
My heart is burning with
the souls that have died
a thousand different ways.
Somewhere over the mounds
of Lebanon, souls
that once breathed her air full
of joyous pride, clutch
to the sadness and adorn her
in prayer.
I believe with all that I believe that
somewhere deep within the forests
of her beauty,
Lebanon is smiling
awaiting rejuvenation,
awaiting a nation
dancing in
illumination
One day we will open
our dead eyes and find
that the capital of heaven is
Beirut.
Finally salvation.
-Arizona
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 7:50 AM UTC
If I was a king of Asia I would give you all the gold there is
But I'm not even prince of Persia, all I have is love and dreams
Let me show you land of legends, land of honeymoon and rising sun
I am not as rich as Ali Baba, but I promise we'll be having fun
I'll take you to Bali the gem of Java Sea
Then we'll go on to safari a little south of Abu Dhabi
I'll take you to Maldives to swim in coral reefs
We'll enjoy the sweet papaya on the islands of Pattaya
I'll show you lake Baikal, Tibet and Taj Mahal
We'll see Macao, Yokohama, Hanoi, Jeddah, Jaipur, Jakarta
I'll take you to Dubai, Dushanbe and Mumbai
We'll spend some starry nights in yurts near the city of Yakutsk
I’ll take you to Tashkent where melons got their scent
We will taste all sorts of apples in the city of Almaty
I’ll take you to Beirut we'll go nuts on dried fruits
And the coffee with vanilla we can try it in Manilla
I'll take you to Kashgar to shop at old bazaar
Then we'll fly a magic carpet to the markets of Qatar
We'll see ruins of Karakorum the old capital of Moguls
Then we'll go to Kathmandu and then Karachi and Kabul
We'll discover caves with treasures, make three wishes all at once
All at once will turn to a fairy tale, like in one and thousand nights
Let me show you feast of colors, take you cross the dunes in caravans
Even if I don't look like Alladin, I sure know a thing about romance
I'll take you to Taipei to see its lovely bay
We will sip on Coca Cola on the silky sands of Goa
I'll take you to Shanghai where towers touch the sky
And the best of architecture we will see in precious Petra
We'll go to Ashgabat, Bishkek, Busan, Baghdad
We will see Great Wall of China and Cambodian Angkor Wat
We'll see the Everest, mount Fuji, Gobi Desert
And it's certainly my pleasure to take you all around Asia!
Apr 3, 2022
Apr 3, 2022 at 10:07 PM UTC
Even the ink in my quill dried out
after they burned my muse
Sep 15, 2020
Sep 15, 2020 at 9:18 AM UTC
Before identities and allegiances are even confirmed,
The cries of anger rise up like a thick, black smoke,
Heavy and suffocating, it flows through streets,
Over the English Channel, across oceans,
Seeping into social media and blanketing all else.
Cries for vengeance,
Vengeance,
Vengeance.
And those cries barely manifested into a wisp
When Beirut was attacked the day before Paris.
I didn't see any Facebook pictures of the flag of Lebanon.
Do any of us even know what the flag of Lebanon looks like???
To **** innocent people is a crime except when we do it,
Then it's "There are always casualties of war,"
But if this isn't a war except when we're killing people,
Can it really be called a war?
We care so much about the injustice of it,
How the innocent are mowed down without mercy,
That we want those bombs dropped and we want them dropped now.
When those bombs destroy homes and blast children's limbs apart,
Bloodless and pale, until the area looks like it used to be a porcelain doll factory...
Will we all have Syrian flags for our Facebook pictures?
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
brushstrokes, some broad,
some as narrow as one fine hair,
are often red
scarlet and scattered
across the canvas, splattered
against a crumbling wall, where,
for no rhyme or reason, the artist
may place a wilted wreath of flowers,
pallid, yellow
horses and people, babes
and the ancient not spared
their share of the crimson cream
the painter heaped munificently
on their mangled remains
Paris, Beirut, Yola yet to be painted
but there is still time: in its abundance
someone else will need only lift a hand
to spill the ubiquitous blood
our palettes do own other hues
black for charred crosses, white,
the lightning streaked screaming sky
but none so plentiful as the red
none so plentiful as the red
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
Looking through a complex eye
poisoned by countless vials of nitroglycerin
the world sings a familiar tune of
an ineradicable human urge for lethal conflict.
A world view
of culturally intolerant tyrants and a place
where Robin Hood does not exist, instead
his former self sits wallowing in the tragic misadventures of human dignity.
Society now aids the pauper,
who is but a superficial vagabond sitting intrigued by
hopeless people from distant lands.
As the innocent of Beirut lie murdered
the reaper tastes regret,
while bank accounts paint self portraits
instilled by ephemeral yet righteous morality.
Dangerously speeding through the lanes of life
to make it home just before it rains;
the world all encompassing
is never the concern.
Halos hover above diet pills dressed in simple linens
for everything is an easy fix;
lies, hatred, ignorance, and blatant evil,
all can be fixed by ignoring the even lies (the even lines that lie above).
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 7:53 PM UTC
I once found a unicorn horn
But my peers only met me with scorn
I made such a wish
Turned into a fish
And swan for the sea until morn
I took the horn and held it up high
Said a prayer to the lord of the sky
Thunder did clap
And I fell into a trap
That cost me my left arm and one eye
I cast the horn off a cliff
Into a vast cavernous rift
It bounced right back up
Broke my best cup
Which was going to cause me a tiff
See, my wife had just bought me that glass
And now she would kick my whole ***
First with a boot
Just like in Beirut
Where they stomp you for not wearing a sash
I have fallen right off of the point
Probably from smoking that joint
This was about a fine horn
From a unicorn born
By the oil which was once used to anoint
a religious twist enters the plot
some of you like that a lot
but it was just a trick
like a bordered **** pic
as I turn the piece back to green ***
see I grow for the boys and girls
in a field on top of the world
vast fields of ****
are all that I need
to keep all my drawstrings unfurled
but a unicorn has no need of strings
or any such silly ole things
with a magical neigh
he just sauntered away
so I’ll end this song just as it sings
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC
I can't breath
I n e e d m y s p a c e
nexttomykinthatcloseside|by|side
as we CAPITALIZE ON RE(FORMING x BUILDING) THE CAPITAL that's sulking in d
e r
b
i
s
hold me
I am sssshhhhaaakkkkiiiinnggggg
with RAGE
here, let me help...
lights match
here's the wick
eXXXXXpl
\O/
D
E
on the
____________
-------------
___streets____
wipe out the gunk
stomp them under your feet
It's
TIME
FOR
BEIRUT
Aug 14, 2020
Aug 14, 2020 at 6:20 AM UTC
“In sickness and in health
till death do us part”
She exploded in my heart
threw me off my feet
Across a living room filled
with nights only she can host
I spoke of her to those across the world
who will never experience what it is
to fall for a city
it is beyond patriotism
this ineffable love for a sleepless phenomenon
who homes strangers
shook the world
with shockwaves
that equaled the chemical imbalance
its people have for their city
Under the debris of sparkling glass
she was broken
there’s so much she can withstand
even when we always stand by her side
shards engrave themselves under thick skin
poking at the body that still believes in love at first breath
At a heart that does not know how to stop
At a will-power that questions its creator about its strength
At a body that homes an identity beyond this world
alien to it
toxicity hovered in lungs
And across skies
blushing clouds
turning them pink
Sunset wasn’t serene
The ocean cradled bodies
on their way to the afterlife
They cried salty tears
Fed up.
Her soil has felt the stomping anger of grieving mothers, fathers, husbands
families
the last words of suffocating victims who never lost hope till
The angels opened the doors of the sky
To welcome new brave souls into the heavens
to lead by example
their white coffins
wed the earth with the skies
they watch over us
Brooms brushed her face
Hands held others
Homes homed
Revolutionists revolted
Nooses were hung
judgment day is knocking
at our hearts
and mind you, we are known
for our hospitality
She cannot cry
She never did
It never suited her
But she sure knows how to roar
how to devour
parasites feeding at her immortality
I wear your ring around my finger
“In sickness and in health
till nothing does us part”
Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 2:23 AM UTC
in the sky, I don’t see him, the Big Guy,
the “G” man, but I found someone who did,
posing the query, “What is God?”
he answered his own question
with twenty words, plus one--no mention of the sun,
the stars, or how HE ignited the Big Bang
but many
wispy words about love, glory
justice and joy
I can't claim to comprehend you,
wedded to agnosticism I seem to be
though I truly would like to see:
something behind the
sunken eyes, bloated bellies of babies
covered with impatient flies
something in the blood trails
of San Bernardino, Paris, Beirut
Khe Sanh, Iwo Jima, the Marne
Antietam, ad infinitum
who can read those red riddles
and help me understand--maybe more
than 21 words are required
though I am hardly inspired
when the words to describe HIM/HER/IT
don’t mention milk except as human kindness
or do nothing to explain our blissful blindness
to blood dripping from stakes driven
so long after Calvary’s crosses
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
Call me Scherezade, *******
Don’t give a **** about riches
I have wealth in my soul
And I love humanity as a whole
And I have millions in support;
I don’t need paper per se,
And If I have a little extra
I will give it away,
To feed the hungry,
Love peace and solidarity
I will give it to others
To feed my sisters and brothers
You want to say some ****
Get with it, *****
Because the issue is a great one
Threatening all of our nations
You can say I’m naive
But in my mind I believe
I have a dream for peace
But I’m not a piece of ***
And if you show disrespect
I’ll kick your ************* ***
Haters. All day it’s what they do
Sorry you’re bored have no friends boo
But I’ll stand up to you
And so will my friends
You wanna say some ****
We’ll shut you down in the end
I have my crew,
Know what to do
I have a movement in Beirut
I am a Middle Eastern princess
Leading the Israeli resistance
Radical as can be
Americans for peace
Americans for love and solidarity
I want smoke with my homies,
**** with my bromies,
Help the suffering others
My sisters and brothers
You want say some ****
I’m a princess *****
And I’m smart as ****
With eloquent wit
And for you man-children
who hate on feminism
Are some ignorant ******
So I dismiss that ****
I have a degree and I’m working for me
You can call me a ***** you can’t call me a *****
Of the D’s I want, I only want three,
My doctorate, my boyfriends ****
And destruction of the patriarchy.. aye
Say all the **** you want
Because you stupid *** ******* have nothing but taunts
I won’t hate you I won’t tell you to **** off and die
Because we’re all part of this earth
And we are fighting to survive…
Know me ***** You think that I won’t?
I have goodness in my heart and I share with those who don’t
I’m a princess, ***** maybe young and naïve
You ****** watch I call the shots
One day I’ll be the queen of peace
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 7:10 AM UTC
SANTA'S GETTING OLDER AND HIS EYESIGHT'S NOT SO HOT
HIS MEMORY IS FADING TOO, THERE'S LOTS THAT HE'S FORGOT
LIKE WHERE HE'S BEEN, AND WHERE HE'S TO AND THE THE HELL IS HOME?
AND WHICH WAY IS INUVIK WHEN I TAKE OFF FROM NOME?
THER'S PLACES THAT HE'S BEEN TOO, THAT NOW HE CANN'T FIND
IT'S NOT THAT HE'S FORGETFUL, I THINK HE'S LOST HIS MIND
THE ELVES ALL STAY AWAY FROM HIM WHEN HE'S AROUND BECAUSE
HE'S ALWAYS GOING ON ABOUT THEIR RELATIVES IN OZ
THEY TELL HIM HE'S MISTAKEN AND THAT OZ IS NOT THERE
THAT IT WAS JUST A MOVIE, BUT SANTA DOESN'T CARE
HE SITS AROUND AND MUMBLES AND TALKS ABOUT THE PAST
ABOUT HOW THINGS ARE CHANGING AND KIDS GROW UP SO FAST.
"BEFORE COLUMBUS SHOWED HIS FACE..I HAD THIS THING DOWN PAT"
"I NEVER MISSED DELIVERIES BACK WHEN THE WORLD WAS FLAT"
"THE TIME ZONES HE CREATED WHEN HE PROVED THE WORLD WAS ROUND"
"GET ME HOME TWO HOURS PRIOR TO THE TIME I LEFT THE GROUND"
"I LEAVE AT TWELVE, DO MY TRIP AND I GET HOME AT TEN"
"I CAN'T REMEMBER IF I'VE BEEN...SO, I GO OUT AGAIN"
"WITH ALL THE MAIL THAT I RECIEVE, IT'S GETTING RATHER TOUGH"
"SO LAST YEAR I COMPUTERIZED TO ORGANIZE MY STUFF"
"I DESTROYED ALL MY INFO AND STORED IT ALL ON DISC"
"I LEAPT INTO THE FUTURE AND I TOOK A MAJOR RISK"
"MY ATLASES I TOOK AND BURNED, MY LISTS I RIPPED UP TOO"
"I DIDN'T NEED THESE THINGS NO MORE, NOT WITH MY IPAD2"
"WAY BACK IN MID DECEMBER THE PLUG SLIPPED FROM THE WALL"
"I DIDN'T HAVE A BACKUP, AND SO I LOST IT ALL"
"MY ELVES THEY CANNOT HELP ME, IN FACT THEY SIT AND LAUGH"
"BECAUSE LAST YEAR WHEN I AUTOMATED, I CUT MY STAFF IN HALF"
"IT'S GOING TO TAKE A WHILE, IT MAY BE A FEW YEARS"
"BUT I'LL DELIVER EVERY GIFT WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM SEARS"
"YOU SEE, I'VE GOT A CATALOGUE AND I'LL ORDER FROM THEIR SHELVES"
"WHO CARES IF I GET MY STUFF FROM THEM, OR IF I GET IT FROM MY ELVES?"
"I THANK YOU ALL FOR LISTENING, BUT NOW I'VE GOT TO SCOOT"
"YOU SEE, I DROPPED SOMETHING OFF WRONG AND YOUR GIFT'S IN BEIRUT"
"DON'T WORRY YOU'LL STILL GET IT, JUST CHECK BENEATH YOUR TREE"
"IT MAY TAKE A LITTLE WHILE, BUT I'LL GET IT THERE....YOU'LL SEE!"
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 8:53 PM UTC
Give me Beirut after midnight on a Tuesday
Wednesday morning doesn't need to know we're here
My eyes so dull of aging compromise
Give me the anticipation that will make me feel young again
Things aren't how they used to be but they can be in our minds
Fall in and out of me
My heart is so dizzy and my thoughts so blurry
And you still so pretty, so pretty to me
I want to write you pity love songs until you think of me as pretty, too
And hold your soft hands through a cold autumn stroll through the park
And kiss you credulously in the dark
Yes, sometimes I want to die
Somehow somewhere I am already dead
And you, my light, might not exist
Perhaps we have always been
Alone
Alone
Alone
But right now while listening to The Rip Tide at 1:49 am
Pretend with me
Lie to yourself, too
You're not too shallow
I'm not too broken
You're the right amount of shy
I'm not overtly out-spoken
We are our feeling
We cannot be tamed
We cannot be touched
Us
We are us
We're in love
love
love
love
//
Leave it for tomorrow to decide what is false pretense and real
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 4:53 AM UTC
I can bore you with talk
of women and children,
but it is simple enough to say
human beings.
Human beings
run in gathering storms
of concrete dust;
run from misting
of meat.
Explosions are sudden fatal therapy
for human beings
suffering dissonance,
and there's nothing quite
the same as losing words.
All of these
human beings,
cut-off
quick
in Tourette syndrome
****
Pu.nc-tu-a.tion.
Caught in the concrete cloud
darker than Krubera Cave,
lost out on a betrayed Silk Road,
as bloated blue bodies
wash up on Indonesian shores.
This city of centuries
built by human beings,
has now become
almost-five thousand corpses
who dangle their toes
out of shrapnel windows.
Pieces of me sweat
away in an instant of swaying black burqas,
rocking on knees at a cemetery.
I’m standing in Beirut -
nineteen-eighty two.
I watch towers fall.
There has to be
a way to make the world relate,
even if it takes
nineteen years.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
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.
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC
Cut loose your black bird
When you sleep
Into the night
Peering and prying
Into other beings lives
It sees you and the world
In another life
Not past nor present
In no space and in no time
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 10:38 PM UTC