The Elections in Lebanon

by | May 16, 2016 | Poetry | 0 comments

The same charade goes on and on
every time there are elections in Lebanon;
they want my vote—
I say, as a responsible citizen,
I should note
that I have no other choice
in your so filthy democracy
but to vote,
that’s got to make a difference
but you have already bought me
within a package
along with all the votes of my family
that I never sold
yet didn’t say no,
I was not everybody,
so I sold it anyway—
my own right to liberty.

The elections in Lebanon,
there is no room in the pen for a beast,
no a free pass anyway,
you pay your dues with my consent
to eat me the very next day;
I build a chair for you to sit
and fasten its legs
through my neck to the ground—
a solemn choice of god
sold for bread and tears,
behind closed doors
away from the world
lest anyone should near—
the stench’s already filling up the sky.

The elections in Lebanon,
how much does it cost
to buy a country?
for the next term
like the term before,
we bring down one dictator
and build another;
we desecrate one temple,
throw stones at gods of old—
as long as you fail to see
the god you have in yourself,
you quickly construct a new deity.

The elections in Lebanon,
banners are cheaper than man,
or was man cheaper—
a tribe of nobodies
finding meaning in being somebody’s man—
they have fooled you, it is not raining hell,
why would you take refuge
under their umbrellas?
In this tight space under this temporary shade,
the sun will never hit you
before you give away your vote,
and note that once you do
you’ll be sentenced back to hell—
a land not riddled with fires
do not be afraid,
a landfill full of your kind
temporary thrown away until next time
like the fields of Asphodel—
a landfill you need no visa for,
you are already nobody;
a man has never been properly labeled and priced
until the time of that so-called democracy—
democracy of the Middle East,
where the tribe has been conquering for centuries,
the same sheiks and princes and feudal lords
that sold out yesterday
all their people to sultans and kings just to hold
onto a piece of land and a title—
today we are not slaves anymore
we never let them sell us no more
we on our own can sell today ourselves.

0 Comments

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Want More Like This Post?

A Wounded Bear – Poem

They call me a bearSo powerful, so strong—A wounded bear I amI wish I could just hibernateAnd wake in another worldWake to another landI once called my home. A wounded bear I am,None can take me head-onBut like everything I wearCell by cellAll the mightThe show...