Beirut, Madness Of Our Sea Poem by Mishka Mojabber Mourani

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,
of poorly-concealed shell scars,
like an older woman who is badly made up.
I choose you as one chooses not to stop smoking.
I light you up to calm me.
I smoke you to compose me.
I extinguish you so that I may savor you later.
You tempt me with your abandon,
with you contradictions.
The serenity of your madness has always offered me refuge.
You are a capricious child,
a fickle woman in the autumn of age,
an alcoholic old man, a cruel mistress,
a cornered animal.
You are a child whom one cherishes in spite
of her temper tantrums, a woman with a heart
as big as the world, an old man who loves to love,
a mistress with open arms, an alley cat in all its splendor.
Immolating city, you quench your thirst from our sea.
You are a frenzy, a final assault to the bitter end, a respite.