Beirut - The Last time I Saw You

Even as
you fiddled with your phone and
avoided my eyes

Even as
you sat stiff on the edge of the chair and
didn't touch me

Even as
you swore you wanted to stay with me but
had to go

Even as
I hugged you with trembling arms and
you walked away

Even as
you looked away from me as
the taxi drove off

Even as
my mind screamed in protest and
my logic
squirmed in agony

Even as
my intelligence was questioned and
my sanity
was discussed

Even as
my eyes turned red
and my soul
shattered

Even as
Faith itself thought me a fool
and Fortune
laughed

I believed u loved me.

Bonfire

Bonfire

throw in shame
shame does not scream -
no
it only moans

loneliness?
loneliness isolates
each flame
to devour itself

anger?
anger spits
flashes, fumes
and perishes in a hiss

hurt?
hurt, oh how it endures
suffers
and slowly deteoriates

despair?
it gives in
quick
and chokes

loss?
it blazes
brightly then
disappears

worry?
it unfurls into
a giant balloon
and busts

hatred?
it burns
in scorches
then suffocates

and if i toss in love ?
love does not burn the fire
and the fire
does not burn love

Okay, so I sent this chain letter thing to 22 of my friends and I was supposed to get my wish today. According to the chain letter, your wish is granted 72 hours after you send the letter. It has been 73 hours and (surprise?) no wish. I even threw in an extra hour before I threw in the towel. Where does that expression come from? Throwing in the towel? I guess it means you are done with something, but I guess it would have to something to do with water-- a bath, a shower, swimming?

I don't feel like googling it. Google and I are not on speaking terms nowadays.

On the topic of these chain letter things (which I usually don't send because I don't live in la la land but god, I wish I did) what is up with all the people of FB who enter numbers or words to see a picture change? I mean, these pictures get tens of thousands of hits. I feel sorry for the people who do it. I feel like their names are being gathered into a database to track stupid humans.

Super grumpy today. Deprived of regular human contact and food. How much longer can this go on? I should sprout wings soon and ascend to heaven.

But even heaven
in all its glory,
still seems to me
a little boring.

Last lines of a poem I wrote a long time ago.

I still think about my friend in Syria. We are also not on speaking terms- no drama- it all ended with "not a bang, but a whimper". I guess that is the only way to end a thing like that, which I so don't want to get into here but have alluded to before. I have written enough about him. He was my muse, I suppose. I don't need a muse anymore, I can a muse myself.

would you have loved me ?

if i hadn't spent days in the sun
with my mouth open, drinking heat-

would you have loved me ?

if i hadn't spent nights under the moon
with my heart open, bathing love-

would you have loved me ?

if i had sewn my mouth shut
in jagged lines
with black thread

if i had sewn my vagina shut
in jagged lines
with black thread

would you have loved me ?

if i had sewn my ears
my eyes and my brain
and my heart
in jagged lines
with that same black thread

would you have loved me ?

if i had wrapped myself
in black fabrics made of black threads

would you have loved me ?

it is no matter my love

i need the sun
crave the moon
and cannot sew

and need myself
more than you

A love poem

I could tell you how you moved me to tears, and you did

Or how my heart beat fast at your words, and it did
Or how I have wished for a poet like you, and I have
For months, I have looked for you-

for that large stature made majestic since houses your big heart –

the heart of poet -

For months I have wondered if I deceived myself –

making mosaics from broken pieces

of my own mirror-

For months I have mourned for you –
for words bulging, with innuendos and lust—
for nights overflowing, with lust and passion –

I wondered why I didn’t tell you I loved you as we lay there –

even though I knew you wanted to hear it-

and I wanted to say it

I wondered why I couldn’t find a trace of you in anyone else –
with just one smidgen of your spirit,
one touch of your soul,
or one-tenth of your heart-

Was it an instant recognition of another poet that moved me ?

Was it the way you moved,

the way you talked,

the way you held me ?

Was it that I have missed you all my life ?

A man who knows the way to a woman’s heart

is the simple act of lying in her lap

and falling asleep like a child –

A man who  knows that a woman wants to feel passion

that is greater than just her sex –

A man who knows that a woman weaves webs as she loves - 

so she can roam free within gossamers of her own design -

Finally -- to write in stanzas to a man who can read the lines

and even between them -

To love in rhyming

and seduce in metaphors

and lust in alliteration –

To believe in life again--

in the divine,

in the mundane--

To believe in magic again.

My chest is heavy to hold you, my love

Pride

Hungry for love,
I eat what you have left me -
like a hungry child who was sent to bed
without food -
who scurries under the dining table to find
a tiny morsel to wet her lips -

Hungry for love,
I swallow the tiny pieces whole-
and wish pieces would satiate me
my belly grumbles-
I am too ravenous for crumbs
but too proud to beg for more -

pride is a lonely place for a woman -
a woman
should
laugh at insult
smile at despair
love at nothing

My heart -
broken
for a million years
entered thousands of temples
that were only
stables dressed as temples

My eyes -
tearing
for a million years
etched a revine on a face
that was only
masked in stone

Hungry for love,
I remain a proud woman -
and all I taste are
the feelings I swallowed -
bitter sour tablespoons
dried of syrup

Hungry for love,
I stand with my crown -
although it
claws my head with thorns-
wraps my body with vines
holds my heart in a vice

Too proud to be freed.

My Epic of Sadness

I sit writing words into a space that does not know space, singing songs to men who have plugged their ears-

So easily enchanted by the promise of love,
I have either surrendered myself too quickly or played coy when I was ardent -

So is the deception I have placed over my own eyes.
Like a scarf made of the most brilliant colors, the softest silk and the most enchanting fragrance -

So is the deception I have planted in my own ears.
Listening to music made from echoes and poetry written for the daughters of kings -

So is the deception I have voiced from my own throat.
The croaking of a poet wanting to be loved but whose voice repels the very one she calls-

A siren would never know my sorrows.

I have loved in vain -- the most vain act a human can perform --  but I will not allow shame to burrow into my breast -

Shame belongs to those who do not love but only give the appearance of love-

My heart is pure and my conscience is clear -

My love does inspire stanzas written from a man's heart, strewn with rhymes about my lips and my eyes and kindled by my spirit -

But even if those verses never come- from any man's heart-- I am whole.

I will twist myself in the love of universe, mouth open- drinking stars, ears open- hearing silence, eyes open- seeing light-

If I am silent, quiet, and see only light, how can another injure me?

http://allpoetry.com/poem/8526799-The_Epic_Of_Sadness-by-Nizar_Qabbani












    

Free Fallin'

I am on the Paleo-diet. The cave-man diet. Thus deprived of sugar (and sex, but that's another topic entirely and not really part of the diet because I am pretty sure cavemen and women had a lot of really hot sex after the hair dragging) I am not in a particulary good mood.

I have not had a trace of sugar, including fruits or even bread, for about 4 days. I have not had a trace of sex, including kissing or even handholding, for -- well, months.

All I really want to do is club people but who lets us do that this day and age? Yes, most of them are male but there are some women I wouldn't mind hurting.

I want to do my own kind of clubbing. No music required. Just blunt objects.

I am a ray of sunshine.