Khatchik Derghoukassian: LEFTOVER

To the city of all the sorrows, to Beirut.

You walked away from the city
with no sorrow
deep enough
to burry
all the fallen gods.
Though you still remember
from time to time
someone you lost,
some unborn love,
or some hope they burned
in the streets of nowhere;
you learned also to live
and feel no pain
for the wasted time.
So now you know
that back there,
in that landscape of absolute madness
all the wars of the future were fought.
Life is but a leftover
of which no one really cares much.

Khatchik Derghoukassian