As we sit in the middle of this terrible sand storm which originated in Iraq and Syria we can only be forced to pay attention to the omens. The way of clarity is certainly not available at this time. We are still in the churning of chaos. At times like these it is is wise to retreat. Words are precious and must not be wasted in fruitless dialogues that seek only to appropriate and neuter the emergence of change. The popular revolt being expressed in Lebanon is being fought against from all sides, including accusations of external sponsorship, and now even the weather is conspiring to make the quest harder. The popular swell in its gravity and spontaneity forced reluctant Lebanese politicians to the table after a year of sulking and boycotting each other. However, did they come to the table to resolve their differences or to unite against a common enemy that threatens them? The revolution must go on...
As for me, sometimes only poetry can express the level of my dismay. Prose is too limiting, because it is in the gaps of the unsaid that the play of truth can emerge long enough to remind us of the things that need to be expressed. These are my thoughts this week. "In the purgatory of delay Lebanese politicians play They maneuver to safeguard Their habitual charade While the storm of sand Uniformly covers the land Angry citizens flail and fail Public rage and political deceit Compete noisily on the street In spontaneous demonstrations And some other fabrications But the stench of incompetence Lies in garbage of big pretense Our Lebanon is made ill Turned into a horrid landfill Toxic smoke fills our struggling lungs Replacing the sound of smoke guns Rats roam and the plague nears As every solution disappears Because of the stupidity Of the selfish and greedy Lebanon stares now at a calamity. Will the people succeed? Do the young have to bleed? Is non-violence the way? To get change underway? Through screams and tears Or shots fired and angry jeers? How can one even budge The lords of waste and sludge Who robed the nation For their own glorification With a sickening smile And pretending all the while To be serving the weak When it is subservience they seek Keeping people like sheep Grateful for their token kindness Confused by flattery and blindness They rate their magnitude By the volume of servitude These old power merchants Are paradises’ resident serpents They should be held accountable For ensuring that poverty is profitable These flamboyant thieves Must be forced to leave Only their names to remain A vestige of their corrupt reign In a dark corner of history That is their failed failed legacy. I still have to believe That though we cry - The phoenix can still fly…"
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Tracy Dany ChamounArchives
February 2017
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