Lebanese Sonnet
(Rafik Hariri, martyred February 14, 2005)

It is that time of mourning when
darkness is as it is and the stars still spin,
the roads of the world are trials of night
and the wine dark sea reflects a pale light.
Trapped between the layers of water and sky
is the relentless dawn song as it travels by,
nothing but time making its noise -
not dog's bark nor the neighborhood boys.
Since then it has been a complete year
when the builder reached the blue dome
in the first heaven an eternity to roam,
and hears only dark waves fall against dark pier.
We miss his big brows and pudgy lips, thick hair
but mostly we miss his financial flair.

In every time zone

a soldier patrols the perimeter of the site
in a certain kind of loneliness.
He persists but I do not.

A prayerful moth, rather large,
finds sanctuary on top of the blinds
but we do not.

Momentary gladness fills the room,
grace ends with a smile.
Your presence fills nothing but the void
as a car loading explosives at dawn
shuts prophecy down for the day.
It is grown here and exported, how?

Radishes grow into melons.
Dogs scattered in various poses
at the road side, mangled and all
quite dead. How can this be?
Who is painting the roads red?

A minaret climbs through the arcadia door,
it is almost beautiful, a knick knack.
The men in clusters near the bottom
count several angles, another balances
high on the scaffold with bare chest.
A slaughter in the dust one year ago
and next year my decorations will
sing everything is loved once before
building a reputation, wherever that is.

Beirut Assassin Leaves Mark

The cocks were storm-crowing that morning
after a real long spell of total
environmental darkness. Two broughams sped by.

(In the land of the prophets
the angels talk out-loud,
people pretend not to notice.
Here it is the status quo.)

All the clocks whirred with quick sighs.
At sunset the clouds were full of the dust.
On the sand hundreds of lovers were kissing
out in the open. Everyone was buying
flowers and the coffee carts were brimming
with hot fluids and stale remedies to the skies.

Then everything just stopped. Windows fell
apart and people ran home, started looking.
Zoom in, zoom out, zoom in, zoom out.
I felt around for my watch to note the time.
School was letting out and I compared JFK,
that unholy day to this one. Must have been similar.

Shapely forms felt their way toward the horizons
and the same herd of goats crossed my path twice.
No more luck, no more money, no more beadsmen.
The predictions are always keen to usurp everyone
and the last unlucky man born will tremble
near a pitcher of water and a set of lost keys.
This benediction quieted all the kinfolk
and the rich slept closer to their quarters
but it does take some time, perhaps forever.
The poor remain indifferent.

One man was found two weeks later in the rubble,
pointing in one direction, holding his cell.
No one called out the dogs because it is said
the canines ate the corpses in Sabra and Shatilla.

I wonder.. to whom was he speaking,
where was he pointing?


Tarbouche


Another year walks away,
another one starts
to pass on by.
Before you know it
they are all gone.