Here I am,
sitting in a strange cafe,
surrounded by strange faces,
smiling as I hear glasses clatter.
— I’ve said this so many times.
you feel like home.
I do not know your streets,
but I know they lead me where I belong.
I will never get lost in them,
but I am lost in you.
I dream of tomorrow;
between your desolated corners,
your huggable trees,
your noisy people.
I see myself as a flower,
that refuses to bloom in another place;
I’ve been blooming in my hometown,
despite the rocks engulfing my being,
but it’s ripping my petals off.
I won’t lose my beauty,
to people who see my creativity,
I want to gaze into your skyline,
and find my muse.
I want to steal success,
and shove it into my hometown’s face.
I want to remember this day,
The raindrops on my window,
caressed by your sunrays,
sparkle the way the bubbles in my champagne glister,
as I drink a toast to my dreams coming true.”
Beirut, you’re the blooming of madness.