2021, be good
We all
Welcome you
With trembling arms
Hope, our weapon.
2021, be good
We all
Welcome you
With trembling arms
Hope, our weapon.
You’ll definitely
Not be missed
You sad, mad beast
Good riddance,
Fuck off.
A lonely flower, content.
It’s all temporary, my dearest.
This remorseless cannon detonating constantly inside your Beautiful being is temporary.
This cruel war you didn’t wish waged; the silent blasts only you and God can hear, are all temporary.
It feels as though your once-colourful world is being stripped of its crayons, hope crippled, one explosion at a time.
It feels as though the bombardment is ripping you apart in Slow-Motion.
It feels as though even our Mother is angry; nature seems livid with earth’s all–conquering, all–materialistic animal.
But remember, my dearest: it’s all temporary.
This arid year.
This soulless virus.
It feels as though hurt has turned savage–creature, omnipresent. In your teeth. Your femur. In your skull. Your naval hair. In your exhales.
It feels as though hurt is released from its sordid habitat without notice, assigned to maul your delicate heart without reason.
It feels as though hurt could be accessed anywhere from your Beautiful being, Live and On Demand.
I promise you, it’s all temporary.
Temporary like the unhurt droplet of sweat, set free from a lover’s breast.
Temporary like her shallow I love you whispers.
Temporary like the scent of cinnamon–and–cardamom, bathing in a glass of black tea. The tea you made her as a chivalrous response to the oppression of winter.
Temporary like the first bite of a fresh, sour cherry.
Temporary like an empty park bench pining for intoxicated lovers to return.
Be strong.
You will yet see beauty with every blink.
You will rediscover the Lilliputian joys in life.
You will sparkle-clean the detritus choking your Beautiful being.
For you are human.
God’s image.
An image of God who is feeling the unjust burden of the gnawing sound of loneliness.
My dearest. My Beautiful fellow human. It’s all temporary.
I promise that you will grace the universe with an infectious smile once again.
Does Beirut Need My Sad Poems
Or Is It Sapped By Fleeting Love?
Does It Need Our Roaring Prayers
Or Is God Absent Up Above?
O Lord! Author Of First Daylight
We Need You This Very Hour!
O Exalted! Give Us Respite
We Need Not Your Wrathful Power!
Why Forget Your Child After Birth?
Why Leave Us Like The Midnight Sun?
We’re Trapped On This Woebegone Earth!
We’re Exhausted. We’re Lost. We’re Done.
I Wanted To Write You A Tonne
About The Souls Left Heartbroken
But You Are The Omniscient One
And Know What I’ve Left Unspoken…
Drip-dropped
The rain
Visiting the dead
And on its way down
It tenderly said:
‘O Dreamer!
Life still does flow
Still. Chaotic.
Magical like a bride’s trousseaux
Soft as a little girl’s smile
Light as a floating kite in search of a home over a meadow
Cheeky like the glistening sweat escaping a lover’s florid neck
Fleeting like the secretive rainbow
Pure like a Saint’s forgotten footsteps.’
‘Flirt!’
The rain implored
‘Flirt like a butterfly chasing a sunflower
Flirt like a mermaid dancing under a meteorite shower
Flirt
For your time is curt
Be human. Be kind. Be wrong.
Make bedlam and pancakes
Make peace
Make passionate, unreasonable love
Free a caged white dove
Rebel against those who command fruitlessly from above
Sting your haters with honey
And breathe out life like the sacred blue lily
Worship your lover’s naked body
And listen…
Sing songs of those long gone
Sway with warm souls from sunrise till the boomerang of dawn
And flirt…
Flirt!’
Drip-drop into the dirt, the rain fled
Below earth, to call on the disrobed dead…
