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Life of the Party

Maya Kaabour Avatar    Block poet from commenting on your poetry

Below is the poem entitled Life of the Party which was written by poet Maya Kaabour. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Life of the Party

Beirut.
You’ve always been the life of the party.

I’ve seen the sun smile at you,
on Saturday mornings.
As your women
hung over and wrecked
with Jesus crosses on their necks
waltz through streets
trying to find a ride back home.

Your green wooden window panes,
always left open.
Always left waiting.
A sign of hope.
As if something holy
or someone with a red cape on
would come
and save you.

I see it
I feel it
The pain
The terror
I see the bullets 
That have pierced through your walls
Left you with nothing

Your anarchists
Your extremists 
Your people
Your children
Are all fighting
Over a hit 
of the fix you gave them.
Oh Beirut,
what have they done?

I see the clouds of smoke rising
I see your people left bare
with secrets to strip off
and hang on the laundry ropes
that fill your skies

The writings on your walls say it all.
You’ve lost your soul
You’ve lost your spark

Corruption
Destruction
You made the rules 
and then asked us to break them.
I’m not sure who to blame.
Them,
Or you.

You left me high and dry-
Lost in the alleys of your dark streets

I didn’t know who to blame.
So I asked around, Beirut.

I asked the men on motorcycles
who snatch purses from old women.
I asked your nine year old
gypsy beggars.
I asked your officers 
and the teenagers in cellars,
who in another world could’ve been heroes or poets.
I asked your university students,
but they were too stoned to comprehend my questions.
High on a drug of complacency
High on a drug of nonchalance
High on a drug of compromise.
So 
Numb
Numb
Numb


I asked your gods.
Your middle-men.
The pictures on the walls
of your many leaders.

I asked your fathers
Your rapists
Your artists
Your lawyers 
Your educators

I even asked the old man pushing a cart of oranges in Hamra.

But nothing was to be found…

Not even a tad of sanity…
Not even a sense of security
You couldn’t give me that, could you?

Oh Beirut.
You’ve always been the life of the party. 
But I’ve seen them frown at you,
when dawn breaks and you walk out on them
hung over and wrecked 
with a cross around your neck
walking over shattered beer bottles…
trying to find a ride back home.

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