Edition V

May 2018


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The Vicious Network - By Elie Harfouch (Photo by Rob Potter)Photo credit: Rob Potter 

The Vicious Network

By Elie Harfouch

I look and I spread wide
Connection established, I am in your mind

I see lust and lonesome, I understand
I see jealousy and greed, I understand

I am sad. What have become of woman and man?

I don’t back down in front of your mediocre thoughts
You lack of soul, you lack of trust

I open my eyes, and I rise
There is only one answer, no need to analyze

It is a vicious network, I am omniscient
I live and capture it, this pure moment

Spending my days aware, I am everywhere
I combine intangible layers

I am here, will you ever notice?


Different Universes - By Hanna Abi Akl (Photo by Felix Russel Saw)Photo credit: Felix Russell-Saw

Different Universes

By Hanna Abi Akl

I have seen the eye of the raven
and it tells me stories
about different universes
Places where the poor
govern the rich
and drunken men
beat down their helpless sons
A place where You and I
meet again for the first time
A place where you have traveled the world
and come back to the starting point
and I have met all the women
and drowned them in my torrent of waves
A place where I don’t know your past
and you don’t know my present
A place where I am certain of a future
that grounds me to you;
That is the place
I want to get to
That is the dream
I do not want to awaken
from.


For Tough Times Ahead - By Elio Nakhle (Photo by Felix Russel Saw)Photo credit: Felix Russell-Saw

For Tough Times Ahead

By Elio Nakhle

No matter how murky or dark, how windy or rainy over your park,
all you have to do is fly just a little bit above the clouds in the sky.
Embrace the hug that the sun is offering you, and remember it is always there too
behind the clouds and storms that will come to an end, and in your heart that something will surely mend.
The deafening sound of thunder and blinding light of lightning last but for a brief instant,
but the sound of the one who dwells in you and you in him is always existent.
Remember that rivers forge their path not by brute force but by perseverance
and that not all things are to be judged by their appearance.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,
so take heart for one day you will conquer.
And if you need something to help you fly,
remember that there are always things you can apply.
Patience, intellect, empathy, and courage are key,
if one day you wanted to say thank you me:
For you have endured, understood, and overcome
the troubles and plights to which you once succumbed.
For you have never forgotten that you possess an invaluable treasure
something that you will never lose whatsoever:
The fact that you will always be loved by the one who is and by many
and that many things in this life are just confetti.
No matter what remember that existence is a gift
And that dreams happen only if you persist.


Red Room Box - By Hala El Kouch (Photo by Aziz Acharki) (1)Photo credit:  Aziz Acharki

Red Room Box

By Hala El Kouch

In the center of a museum, was a heart. It was closed away
in a huge double glass room box.

The description beneath said:

“Drastically in need of help; it has been hugging and
holding itself together trying to mend on its own but is
slowly disappearing beneath a big lump.”

The heart kept fluttering so badly the box turned entirely
red.

They hired some people trying to sculpt away the lump so
the heart would get its original shape, but it’s blood flow
kept rushing so fast, spitting blood like crashing waves at
their faces and they couldn’t seem to do anything about it;
The lump would only grow bigger and stiffer.

They then understood, a few months later that the heart
refused to lend itself and trust anyone but the artist
himself.


Wet Pants in an Ashtray - by Hanna Yazbeck (Photo by Myriam Nehmeh)Photo credit: Myriam Nehmeh

Wet Pants in an Ashtray

By Hanna Yazbeck

Weariness,
Sickening sickness
drags him down in the cold
warmth of his old stiff body
as his passive rebellious youthfulness
sinks into the still moving sands
of his chair.

Weariness,
On the sides where his hands
lay on arms still still and stale,
His darkened mournful eyes pondering,
tell the tale of the mournful morning
at midnight.

Weariness,
made of the dark room,
the warm worn crimson chair
and the grey white window
from which the young man stares
at the rain.

He waits for the Raven,
But no Raven comes.

Passiveness,
His youthful wrinkled eyes,
still and stale, tell the tale
of how nothing happened
on that mournful morning.

Passively,
he strokes his dick,
led astray on a tray
of comfortable discomfort,
he heads towards the ashtray
in which they laid his bed.

The voices in his head are long gone.
There lays his bed,
He runs and runs to the ashtray,
It is HE who laid his bed,
The characters in his head
are long gone,
There’s no one to converse with,
He strokes his dick more heavily
and rapidly in verse,
He creates an audience
but there’s no play to commerce,
He strokes his dick
he’s finally involved in something.

He strokes his dick

it’s a conversation

with the Angels

he’s lying to himself

with the night

he’s lying to himself

with the dark shadowy lights

he’s lying to himself

with silence

he’s lying, he’s lying,

with himself

he’s lying with himself,
he’s lying –there’s no conversation.

Passiveness,
He sits still still and stale,
The morning has gotten pale,
From blue-grey to yellow clay he saw it,
But he saw nothing; he lay
staring at the ceiling
in the trance of his wet pants.


Like a Hug - by Sara Houmani (Photo by Gaelle Marcel)Photo credit: Gaelle Marcel

Like a Hug

By Sara Houmani

“So why are you building A Campervan
Anyways?”
She asked innocently
As we rode my
Delta Tricycle
On our way back home.
I smiled
Not-so-innocently
As I kept my eyes
On the road
& Said: “For the End of the World.”
“I don’t understand”
She wondered.
“If all the Campervans
Ever built
Were placed end to end,
It would stretch
Around the world”
I explained.
She rested her cheekbone
On the back of my neck
& Suffocated my waist
With both of her hands,
“Like a Hug”, She murmured.
“Like a hug”, I rejoiced.
“Like a hug”


The Unread Eulogy - By Vicky Panossian (Photo by Pablo Heimplatz) (1)Photo credit: Pablo Heimplatz

The Unread Eulogy

By Vicky Panossian

A journey into the future’s memory,
Or perhaps a mere word or two,
In praise of the young loving couple
That the streets of Beirut widely knew…

Thus I begin:
A maiden once loved a man,
A fairy tale’s cliché plan.
But the gods of time did not love her so,
Within her, the sorrow would soon grow.

Dusks and dawns all past in vain,
She slowly learns to cope with pain.
He comes around and clicks the knob,
Her heart, for once, does stop to sob.

But time fights them yet again,
And robs her of her only man.
Life drags him away once more,
The only one her heart beats for…

In her words, you find bits of him,
Portions of him conjure her grim.

Yet she wakes up all alone,
Chills running down every bone,
Thoughts screaming out his name,
If only dreams were easy to tame
If only destiny played a different game
Then, times would always be the same!
But now, who’s there to blame?

And tomorrow,
When there’s not a smile left to borrow,
When nothing of her life is left,
Will she spend her last seconds in theft?
Will she steal her own memory back?
Will she yearn for the days she knew no lack?
Will she turn around time’s vicious track?
Peek into the fathomless eternity’s crack?

And her smile would begin to bloom,
Like the many flowers near his tomb.

But he’s gone now, can not return,
yet within her, the yearn does burn.

She needs one more delicate lie,
Wishing he’d waltz in and bid her goodbye.

If only memory knew the best of me,
perhaps I’d too would find the key
to life’s bitter destiny.
I’d rearrange the hands of time,
sell every ounce of my rhyme,
in return for their eyes to meet once more,
hoping to cure her aching core…

Because Indeed, a maiden once loved a man,
Merely as much as a woman can,
But time does often have a different plan…


Thank you to every writer for the thought infusing poems contributed and
thank you to every passerby for reading the art of our talented poets.

If you would like to have your poem or image published for the next 
Beirut Poetics edition
send your poem or request to be a “visual artist” to poetry@beirutpoetics.com

Join us again in our Poetryhood!!


You can check out our earlier editions of 2018 here:

Edition I
Edition II
Edition III
Edition IV