Pain and Purpose

What is a tree to the hunger of man?
A fruitful rack to feed the mouth which curses
A pillar to be brought down under feet, which stomp the life out of the living

What is a cigarette to the inhaler?
A burning sun in the sake of its lover
A circular tribute to nothingness

What is a horse to a rider?
A transportation method to be beaten
Blinded by leather which man wears to establish establishments

What is a river to a drinker?
A stream of water to replenish the unreplenishable thirst of man
To fill the belly of an abyss
To take the first step towards eternal thirst

What is a rock to its holder?
An instrument which gives birth to pain and purpose
A burden to starve the boredom of the burdened
A weight which crushes the force of an ape

What is man to a cross?
A forsaken son
An orphan
A stream of blood to replenish the unreplenishable savagery of man

What is man to man?
A tool
A sword to conquer man
An inmate
And thus man asks man
What is life to being?

People of the Sidewalks

The moon rises and we come out
like rats,
like cockroaches on hot summer nights
to infest the romantic streets of Beirut that you love so much.

The smell of afternoon coffee lingers.
You smell it, our caffeinated fuckness,
when you pass by us.
We are breathing caffeine.

You’ll find us gathered in small groups
smoking cigarettes,
laughing like hyenas at you and your kind
on the sidewalks.

Fuck you.

One day, we’ll eat your mothers
with love and kindness.
One day, we’ll piss in your mouths.
One day…

We are very angry.

What’s yours is not ours.
What’s ours are your leftovers.
This is our lottery of birth.

We are not asking for anything.
Don’t let us be.
We will be,
we will be forever.

One day, we –

But not today,
because tonight we’ll drink…

We are the scumbags of the third world,
the people of the sidewalks.