Monday, October 22, 2012

I dare you


Miguele Issa is a Christian.  Dania Bdeir is a Sunni. Romy Raad is a Christian.
Rawane Khalil is a Shiite. Zeina Abi Assy is a Christian. Tala Mortada is a Shiite.
Abir Abdul Ahad is a Christian.

I guess, we have been doing it wrong all along.
Miguele, Romy, Tala, Rawane, Dania, Abir and I must have understood it all wrong.
Because we sing together.
We write each other poems.
We dance in one big circle.
We create together, designs in beautiful colors.
We write musicals together.
We give up our lives for each other, if we have to.
We carry each other home after a long night of alcohol and strangers.
We sit together at 6 am, after being up all night, to finish each other’s project.
We hold hands in floaters in the middle of the river to keep each other close.
We hurl into each other’s houses with a colored shirt and ripped converse at the news of a lost father.
We make tea for each other to be able to handle the weight of the makings of cancer.

We have passed our hearts out, one to the other, to keep them safe, because we weren’t able to take care of them ourselves.

Yet, I tie her by the neck as she screams out for help. But I silence her cry and shove a metal piece down her throat. She fidgets in fear and anguish, and her blue eyes are filled with hot red blood, and all I want to do is whip her harder. I whip her until her skin decomposes, her bones surface, and all her blood pours out. I do not rest until Dania is left dry, and I walk away.

She gathers big black worn out tires and presses them against Romy and Abir’s bodies. They are on their knees, begging and pleading for mercy. And Rawane fixes them in place and covers them with gasoline. With black cloth wrapped around half her face, she lights it all up and leaves them to suffocate from the smell of even their own flames. And their last breaths are ignited with a black cloud that carries both away.

Tala knew exactly what would tear Miguele’s heart out, exactly what will leave her to suffer, exactly what will keep her living in despair. She followed Miguele’s family and bombed them in front of her eyes, and left her to deal with the echoes of a broken down house and a broken down life.

We have crafted a nation of suffering and anger.
A place where the hearts of the people have never known love.

We enjoy the rage that is in our streets.
And follow still the venom of our leaders.
We erased the meaning of mercy and grace from the minds of the people.
We have boiled anger and animosity in the insides of the young.
And have watched our country melt down to ashes, in the name of democracy and justice.

God is always watching, protecting our bullets. Protecting them well, straight to the hearts of our enemies. Straight into the lives of the “others” who are not like us.

I dare you to tell us our love is wrong.
I dare you to tell us you know better.
I dare you to put down your weapons.

I dare you to look us in the eye and tell us to kill each other.





Friday, October 19, 2012

Burn down alone.


We are trying so hard to believe in something.
We are trying so hard to get by, every day.

It was a regular Friday at the office.
At around 3 p.m. we hear a bang, the sound of an explosion, the sound of fire and hysteria, we hear the sound of terror come back to us.

We were really trying to get by.
We were just starting to rest in certain calmness, a smooth and soft lie.
We loved this lie because it was silent. And our nights were no longer sleepless.

We were really trying hard to believe in this place.
And it exploded from the ground up our veins and burst out, in harsh skinless bones, and blood, and organs, and burnt skin, and injured friends, and decomposing lives, and last breaths, and a heartless country, and a lost humanity, and an everyday battle, and so much poison down our bodies.
As everyone was frantically calling their loved ones, everyone screamed out their fury, and we all joined in our hate.
We were really trying hard to get by, to believe in something else, and to believe that it could maybe change.
Beirut.
We hate you. Does this not move you one bit.
We are trying with every inch in us to give you a better life, but you are so bitter.
You are so hideous. Why won't you let us love you.
One day, you will be left alone, to rot, in your nothingness, in your crushed buildings and burning bodies.
You will be left to ashes, and we will walk away and not look back, not even once.
And deny you. We will deny you and the hate you have created in our gut, that fucking burning feeling... We will deny you.
We were really trying hard to get by, to believe in you.

Beirut, I wish you never die young.
I wish you will always suffer.

But I,
I want out. I will set sail.
I will not take your anguish.

I would’ve loved you. I would have had so much passion for you.
I would’ve told the world your story.
I would have painted you in colors.
I would have written to you every day.
You could’ve been my sweetest tale.
We would’ve been beautiful together.

Fuck off Beirut. And burn down alone.