Whatever isn’t supposed to happen
happens
here.
Darkness is heavy.
Darkness is so heavy.
My footsteps are louder than the night.
My future is as dark as
tonight.
The moon keeps hiding behind
thick clouds. It isn’t
romantic.
It’s just the silver eye of a cowardly god
peeping in.
Beirut can’t afford a good night.
Beirut can’t afford light.
My footsteps are louder than the night.
I can’t hear
my brothers and sisters crying.
How many roadblocks on my way to you?
How many streets filled with fists?
Love is strong but not as strong as
U.S. sanctions and currency exchange rates,
power cuts and blackouts,
hunger,
and the ongoing garbage crisis.
Burning tires.
I see black smoke rising.
I put on a facemask and cross the street.
I remove the facemask.
Why are we afraid of death?
Unshaven and exhausted
with a dirty Lebanese flag on my shoulders
and an unlit cigarette drooping from my lips,
I reach Martyrs’ Square.
But there is no hope, is there?
Where can we go to keep our love alive?
Bored Absurdist 