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.