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"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
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Dec 9, 2021
Dec 9, 2021 at 7:55 AM UTC
Translation of "The Story" by the Palestinian poet Kamal Nasser
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
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25
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.
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6.8k
Get Out of Beirut
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
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Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC
Baguettes in Beirut
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
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Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
Sundays
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....
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Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
I'm Glad it Didn't Happen Now
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...
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Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC
Eratic Plastic Dysphemistic Euphemisms
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.
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Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
Friday, ****** Friday
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
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Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 7:50 AM UTC
Habibi Lebnan
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!
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Apr 3, 2022
Apr 3, 2022 at 10:07 PM UTC
Song of Asia
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!
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32
Even the ink in my quill dried out after they burned my muse
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Sep 15, 2020
Sep 15, 2020 at 9:18 AM UTC
Beirut Under Flames
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?
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Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
Hashtags and Hypocrisy
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
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Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
Guernica, in technicolor
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).
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Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 7:53 PM UTC
Dissonant Livelihood
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
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Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC
unicorn horn (limerick series)
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
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Aug 14, 2020
Aug 14, 2020 at 6:20 AM UTC
"Thawra" Means Revolution in Arabic
“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”
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Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 2:23 AM UTC
Beirut, I Thee Wed
“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”
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62
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
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Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
21 words, about the Big Guy
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
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Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 7:10 AM UTC
Slam for Peace--1001 Nights
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
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63
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!"
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Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 8:53 PM UTC
The Senile Santa - edited
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!"
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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
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Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 4:53 AM UTC
a candle's fire .
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.
0
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
Watching the Towers Fall
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.
0
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC
Our Martyrs
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.
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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
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Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 10:38 PM UTC
Beirut Black Skylines
My relationship with you is toxic
0
Sep 10, 2020
Sep 10, 2020 at 8:28 PM UTC
Beirut