I once saw a man, a boy, running up a New York street—Fifth Avenue, to be exact, from 37^th—with a piano on his back and scarf trailing like a cape. He made music, I made poems. We both believed in love and beauty and travel and cities, like others believe in dogma, nations, gods, money.

We went on a journey. It was inevitable. An auditory pilgrimage to cities we fell in love with, which we marked with our shoes, which marked us. Three cities, to start: Beirut, New York, Paris.

City Rhapsodies: Vol. I.

Dear world,
It’s out.

This is an auditory trip, in music and words, with Alex Wakim and me. Come with us, somewhere gorgeous. Close your eyes and listen. And imagine, taste, smell, feel… Ready?

BEIRUT

Beirut,

I love you. I hate you.
Beirut,

burka, bikini,
Burger King and bzourat and Laziza on the corniche.

Beirut,

bullet ridden walls,
hole-in-the-wall pubs.

Beirut,

walls of blazoned
posters of

Militias,
Martyrs,

singers and protests and strikes and

poetry readings.

Beirut,

walls of bougainvillaeas.

Beirut, white and pink,

streets that smell of
orange, jasmine,
old newspapers,

Coffee

–with cardamom—

Beirut

Stairs, archways, graffiti,
Wicker baskets dangling from ropes over balconies.

Dangling,
drying

white aabayas,
black lace lingerie,
Like,

flags, proclaiming:

Here,

we kissed and
Here,

they shot and
Here

their friends planted cedar trees and their mothers roses…

Here,
the mountain,

Here,
the snow,

Here the sea and port
that smelled of fish, sesame kaak,

gunpowder and oil,
And…

Here we climbed on the rubble and danced
till we forced dawn
to join:

Oumi la nor2os ya sabiyyi.

Your hand in mine,
Air,
Sea,
and—

What more could we want?—

One more day,
Two zaatar manakish.