Mishka Mojabber Mourani Poems

And she who waits in vain for the return of an emigrant son
And she who goes abroad taking her city with her;
And she who lays her head on the steering wheel caught in the tentacles of a Beirut
...

She talks to her in English,
She reads to her in French,
She prays for her in Arabic,
...

She stands at the window looking out at the storm brewing at sea.
She turns around suddenly.
She sweeps everything off the table: the box of pictures, the letters,
the two empty goblets of wine.
...

He crossed the line
When his helplessness became impossible
When the impossible became an option
...

In the company of women,
Mothers and sisters all,
I learned to work a hook
To knit the past with no. 4 needles
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When do you belong to a city?
When does a city belong to you?
Is it when you switch three languages in one sentence?
...

One is not born a Beiruti, one becomes it,
by loving - without negotiation or compromise -
this city without gardens, this jungle of disfigured
graying buildings and hanging vines of disheveled electric wires,
...

When I write jacaranda
I see the empty courtyard
Foundering in purple
On a morning of war
...