Ode to Beirut II

Poetry by Fatima Elreda
Photo by Ramy Kablan

A gardenia garland adorns the rearview mirror.
It sways with Fairouz's voice. She transports
us to the past. I gaze tearily into your reflection:
An apparition of a city drenched in blue rain.

Traffic and roses are synonymous
with stop lights that speak a language
no one understands, it seems. The palms trees
on the seaside road still lean on your shoulder.

I trace the map that has led me to you. I memorize the landscape of your face.
And when I say all roads lead to your eyes,
what I really mean is that you are the road.
You are my eyes.

You laugh when I take pictures, but how else
could I stop time? Spare me the reasoning.
Let me savor the sweet delusion of your presence.

Will you forgive me when I board that plane?
My fingertips outline the expanding distance.
Your silhouette imprinted into my memory. Every
word you whispered in the dark is engraved on
my body and every sunset melts on my cheek.

I will wait for you on the other end of my
longing, where I preserve this paradox
like pressed flowers in my notebooks.

City of eternal love and eternal separation.
You are lyric clouds. The scent of the sea
and lemon blossoms. The mellifluous laughter of doves. Weeping jacarandas. Your exposed rib cages reveal your tenderness. My faith, my damnation.

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