Sinful Syllables

When they come for me,

Will you be my hideaway,

Or let me burn at the stake?

and because you never cared

or understood

pain or poetry,

I never wanted to write

anything for you.

there is only so much I can do

with words, rhymes and sorcery

to unchain myself

and flee

fate and fire

to return to life

free

and new.

You know I am so tired

of counting

on guilty fingers

syllables and sins.

The palms of my hands

have become sore

rubbing the lamp

of Aladdin.

The trust we had

once upon a time

has been broken-

scattered

like the pieces of the bottle of rosé

we never finished drinking.

We were a beam

of white

immaculate light

that crashed into a prism

and diverged

into separate colors

travelling

side by side

at different wavelengths.

We are lost souls

but perhaps

if we could fold

and intertwine

like two compatible strands of DNA

recoiling

around each other,

our love

could be reborn.

But tonight,

the music is not as loud

as it was

the first time we met.

We used to dance

for hours

but now

my legs are too weary

to keep up

with your tango.

So I should return to my seat,

call a cab,

or just walk home-

like an unfulfilled prophecy

or an unfinished Sedõka

searching

for my other half.

Lonely katautas

lingered on my lips,

waiting for answers

I never got.

I was the last tarot card

you were too scared

to turn,

the sorcerer’s heart

that you ripped

apart

right in half;

and in my wound,

you shoved your dirty fingers

and pulled

out of me

the last sinful beats left.

Five, seven, seven…

Then our story will be over,

And we will stop counting sins.

©Emile Whaibeh 2014

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Emile Whaibeh is a 20 year-old Armenian Lebanese living in Lebanon. He is a pre-med student who is currently in the process of completing his BS in Medical Laboratory Sciences from the University of Balamand. Even though his future plans involve getting into Medical School and becoming a doctor, it never kept him away from writing poetry. Often asked to make a choice between sciences and literature, Emile never understood why a choice should be made. He believes that while sciences help us understand the world around us, poetry helps us create through syllables and words the world we always dreamed of. He also believes in the cathartic power of poetry. Medicine might heal the body; poetry heals the soul.