Light
at the End
I am haunted,
By these Beirut windows,
Looking at me,
Following me,
As I walk its streets,
Like empty eyes,
Blind to the present,
Somehow still looking,
At me from the past,
Either blown out,
Or not yet built,
Not yet present.
But sometimes the sun,
Shines straight through,
Like in a church,
Like the future,
Is looking straight at me,
With the white light,
You see at the end,
Or at the beginning.
And suddenly all those windows,
Seem to look again,
Shine on the present,
And can see,
And there is light at,
The end of Beirut history.