Promoting e-poetria la lubnan

Mistaken for fools?

To take us for fools
Is the mistake of the populist
Who self-perceives his demagogue-ism
To be the word
And not in the order
Of being challenged.

So why so defensive, dear General?
Is this the class of helplessness you
Have dispelled yourself into?
Where is the dignity in distorted images?
Epic encounters with an enemy
Only you have helped created.
This enemy is my flag.

Ana– January 28, 2007

To leave

I do
I really want to.

I understand.

But you are right,
I would never be able to leave.
If I leave
It would only be to come back.
And give this country a piece of my damned mind
Fix things up.
I want to be Basil Fuleihan.
I wish there were more Fuleihans in this country.

I know.
It’s such a tragedy, wallah.
What an embarrassment.

That’s exactly it.
My God.

When I’d tell people what’s going on at home
They look at me…

It is such an embarrassment.

They don’t understand.
How can you explain it?

Like what is wrong with you people?
You cant.
That’s the tragedy
Akh akh akh
La a’ayounik Lubnan
Let not all these deaths be in vain.
Take a deep breath.
Stand up.
Proud and tall.
Head up.
And march forward
Does it really matter?

Ana– January 28, 2007

Watching Away

My Lebanon ties you up
And tortures you
And when she falls
You fall with it
A broken woman
With an even more broken smile.

And once fallen
She tries to get up
But every time
Someone is there
Pressing against her back
She cries
She weeps
She screams rape
But no one listens
And those who do
Hurt her more.

But people get tired of watching.
They move to Iraq
And Lebanon gets the chance
To get up.
She gets up.
Her dark satin hair is dusty grey
Her cleavage is worn out and bruised.
Her once beautiful legs
Are unshaven and cut.
And her heart…

But Lebanon puts back on her make-up
She masks her memoirs of disaster
With her powder
And paints her lips
The color of the blood she so dearly lost
But she loves life.
She wears her panty house
Even in the scorching summer.
Check out her Gucci shoes.
She is strutting in Downtown.
She is sexy, isn’t she?

But they catch up to her.
She falls to the ground.
This time,
The cameras are watching
Her tears scar a beauty that is war-ridden
And tired.
This time,
She is tired
She is getting old.
You want to help her
You desire her happiness.
But she refuses to take your hand.
In an ordinary day,
She stands up
Me first!
Me last!

And with those puppy eyes,
You can’t help but fall in love with her all over again.

Ana– January 28, 2007

Where is my Lubnan?

Tired of waiting
A continuum of sorrow
Compiled by those who don’t care
Imposed on those who do.
Leave us alone!
Don’t you understand what
Enough is enough means?
The same faces
The same mistakes.

You remember what I told you about losing hope?
Losing hope in this country?
I am
I feel it beginning.

Give us a break from history
Where is the future if we are marching backwards?

What is in a passport?
A Lebanon stamped to my name.
But it is so easy to leave
Leave you and all I belong to.
Is this what you want?
Me to leave?
And never come back?

I deserve it.
I deserve what you have refused to offer.
And I am angry at you for it.
I am tired of waiting for what shall never come.
I refuse to be a nobody.
Lebanon is but a few thousand kilometers squared
Hurt, you are hurting me.
The blocked streets are damaging my circulation
My heart is aching
My breathing is difficult
Thanks to burning tires
Choking the essence of life
Out of a flag that no strong wind can ever pick up.

You are betraying me.
Time and time again.
Can’t you refuse.
Can’t you shout it?
Say it!
Stop hurting me!
Say it!
You are supposed to be better than this.
Politics is nothing compared to the hearts of humans.

Your tragedy,
My tragedy,
Is that I cannot understand you.
And you refuse to understand me.
And the world looks, confused, moves on
You become invisible even to those who are concerned
And then your tragedy loses value
It continues,
But no one listens
Who is Lebanon?
What is Lebanon?

Tired of being stuck in the middle.
Tired of blood and blocked roads.
Burning tires and angry mobs.
Who cares?
I want Lebanon.
Come out
Come out
Where ever you are…

Ana– January 28, 2007

H’s Lebanon

The experiment continues
Self-perceived as unabashed
Finalizing the test results–
Why is the margin of error so high?
Repeat you must
For will is ideology
And guns mean perpetual war.
Your posters fly with the Beiruti wind
Overlooking an arena of once economic prosperity–
Today, slums and dirty streets.
Add another variable to your name
A Christian counterpart should surely set the record straight.
Heavens, no!
I stand for Lebanon
A claim self-erected like tents and flags:
My red is bleeding orange
My green cedar has been contaminated
The white has failed
To withstand mothballs and time
And has yellowed a reeking stain
Of fanatical dimensions
And existential fantasticalism.
Poor Lebanon–
Why do you bother holding on
To deserved reconciliation
And boundless imitation?

Ana– January 2, 2007

In Lubnan

And to stand in righteousness
Free of collective punishment,
By force of justification,
Rivaled by permeating inflexibility
And militarism beyond appropriate–
Fighting a depreciating medical condition
That surpasses our cancerous indignities–
To stand strong in the face of a new born lion
Hidden amongst us ready to pounce–
Longevity is measured by power and will,
Moralism and principal goodness
Are forsaken;
Lacking institutional strength to live out
Times of crises–
And so, instead,
The objective is to stay mantled
In prepared soldiery
Articulated by a will of earthly creation,
The sanctity of which shall never be forgotten
Nor fully remembered,
Submerged in mountains of disaster
And a coastline of freedom-fighting dimensions–
Here we plan and initiate
From which all else took forth
In our arms
The baby is rocked to sleep
And with pen and paper
We aim and fire.

Ana– January 2, 2007

Welcome to his laboratory

Welcome to his laboratory!
Lebanon is today’s experiment.
Everything has been prepared beforehand:
Here is the sulfur, here is copper, and here is bronze gone moist.
But wait!
Why are the flasks and jars so dirty!
Your experiment is contaminated!
What is that smell? The yellow reeks!
Behold, the Iranian stench!

Ana– December 1, 2006

Crossroads and war

In faded grandiose
Incompatible development
Clinging to the past
To ignore the disaster
Of our communities
That refuse coexistence by principle
In politik
In society it falters ever so slightly
You wouldn’t notice that she tripped
Or that her heel chipped.

In his words the reason remains
And urgency as urgent as ever could be
Where is the army?
Why the church or mosque?
In slums they lie
Only two floors can hold on
To the calamity
Of them
And today.

It does not me.
I see
But have chosen to ignore.
Life is once.
I don’t have time for reincarnation.

Why in crossroads or chains?
From the jail window I see the necessity
Of socialist appreciation
And hegemonic incentives
Seeping through billboards
Of Coca Cola and Mercedes.
I long to explain
But my tongue has been cut off
By a lion that has only
Just begun to stir
In his cave–
A castle of castles–
In the crossroads of another place.

It is of most of all.
I know–
And so do you–
But cross the street
And don’t look right or left
Continue on walking
Back to 1976.

Ana– December 29, 2006

This December

Why it pains to hear and feel,
In just cause,
For something bigger
Than pages and bookmarks
Or signatures and dates
Could ever offer–
Beside the point
I try to make
Of why things are
And where things have reached.
Camping under Beirut.
Indiscriminate hatred.
Green paint flushed upon faces.
The police stands still
And I stand and laugh.

Ana– December 29, 2006

Green Line

Ingrained in ancient soil
Sturdy on foreign ground
Forgotten by normalization
The stink has certainly subsided
With the power of diffusion
In the branded air
Of quiet charm
Albeit constructed.

Forced are its foundations
Erect on broken tiles
Vandalization of Protestant creation
Firm in stubbornness
Pathetic by self-concerned consciousness
Amid the blocks of historical occupation
Occupiers hold onto a new Green Line
Polarized by vision versus assault
Procreation against outright anti-ism.

Ana– December 25, 2006

We are the Christians

We are the Christians
Who have lost their dignity.
We are proud of our divisions
And our hatred towards one another.
The Cross represents our anger:
You are vertical
I am horizontal
And at the center, we clash.

I love to insult you.
It makes me feel good.
I enjoy rendering you to a worthless state of human classification.
I pride in my deplorable trends
And am pleased to have resisted
Unity amongst ourselves.
May God bless me!

We are the Christians
Who enjoy unrestrained authority
Over our constitution and Ta’if.
And we take pride in rendering Lebanon
A victim of our immaturity.
A Bravo is in order
And a flavor of a standing ovation
Is most appropriate,
For we are the Christians
Condemned to an eternal and demented fragmented existence!

Ana– December 4, 2006

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