Hello again. It’s Sunday morning-ish. Apparently it’s Easter. I guess it’s a sign of how my life has developed the past few years, that I didn’t know it was Easter till yesterday. Not much I miss about Easter aside from painting eggs with my mother, who loved her arts and crafts with us. Anyway, isnt that ritual some pagan rite to do with spring?
Who cares. It’s poetry month! yay! The following poem is by Lara Sawalha, a lovely actress from Jordan, who is set to be a new Poetician as soon as we have a reading in Amman this summer. I thank her for offering a poem for our poetry month series, and yes yes, I know I am one day late.

This is a poem about Beirut.

“The Bay of Roots”

Beirut lights mixed with triptonic thunder strikes
Cold as the night
The words of murmured rhymes come together
Into beats as lighting bites
Hail, rain, umbrellas
Fairouz – “بوس الواوا”
Remarks the sign of Gaza
And the Intifada
Underground hip hop all around
Free styles, words crying
The smoke that brings your world flying
The lit cherry of obscure dancing
Images on the wall
Through the eye of the projecting
Electricity
Dark corners flashing neon
Conversations staggering
Thoughts glimmering
People all around
Like a jangled web
All caught in the moment
Of shivering vibration
Hot, Cold, Sweaty
Jammed in a Lebanese taxi
“Wow, your face is so close to mine”
Bumping into the roof of the odysee
Chilled to the bone and all crazy
Stuck between Iraq and a hard place
Lyrics booming
The boom box so close
I can hear it lurking
Sounds of crystals smashing
Waves gaining as the Beirut lights come to
A shimmering.