اﻟﺘﯿﺎ�ﺮو اﻟﻜ�ﲑ
GRAND THEATER
THE COL UMN
اﻟ َﻌﺎﻣﻮد VOLUME 01 بريوت ﺑﲑوت
My body is pealing. . . I feel bare, naked. I am ashamed to show you myself. The green paint, crumbles, falls, and floats to the floor like a winter tree as the column sheds its skin, but never finds a new dress. The smooth surface degraded . . . Eroded . . . Weathered, not by natural elements, not by time, but from other external pressures, compressions . . . Beirut. I was once the embodiment of strength, balance, and order, I could handle anything, but now the weight on my shoulders is too great. I am not sure how much longer I can carry this burden, feeling divided, but holding it all together. How much longer can I take this? When will I collapse? I sip my coffee on the corner of a little shop along the east side of the Damascus road. The time is 12 midday The bells from a neighboring church begin to sing its song, some people hold their hands together, and whisper a little prayer. I do not know what they are saying but, or even if they are praying but I hear “Amen”. I pay the waiter a small tip and head across the road, to western side of the city. The time is 12.45 The sun is at the peak of its day, shining triumphantly over the city. The Sound of speakers follow it. “Allahu Akbar”. Some people touch their shoulders or their ears. Others like the waiter are quick to head inside, some mutter things but I do not understand Arabic. The street is left half empty. As I walk along Damascus road I ponder on the constant back and forth I have noticed between each side of the road, between the bells and the speakers, the mosques and the churches, people touching their shoulders or ears, or closing their hands to prey. I could use these songs to tell the time of day. 12pm – bells 12.45 pm – speakers 3 pm – bells 4.17 pm – speakers A balancing act, when one side sings the other side sings back. But never in unison, never a couplet or a duet.
Mustapha Aib is out ! Who will replace him? What about the promises he made? When is this reform happening? Is there even going to be a reform? Who is in control? A parliamentary table, a podium meant for speaking, conferring, discussing. Segregated into parts for each side to make a claim, and propose an idea for a solution. The promise of reform echoed from its 4 walls reverberated through the city streets. Each side quarrels, its been happening for years, but suddenly nothing………… Silence. No shouting, no yelling no one to play the blame game…. Have they come to a conclusion, or have they abandoned their designations and integrity? How can a government fix a city when its parliament, has been dismantled, collapsed on itself and beyond repair with tables and chairs that are empty?
Distance
ﺷﻬﻮة اﻟﻐﺮﯾﺐ