Dad,
Eight years
Since pleading with the paramedics
In our hotel room
In freezing Mashhad
To bring you back to life
To wake you up
But no surgical knife
Could chase your smiling soul
💔
I can hear you: ‘Son, dont bawl
Your eyes. I’m resting, perfect.’
I look up
To the windless skies
You’re smiling, still. 🖤
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…
