Sunday, December 2, 2012


To "S"

Long before my free-spirited friend, “S”
Sang Hallelujah,
In the streets of Chicago,
While driving carelessly,
And speaking charmingly gibberish to hasty passers-by,
And laughing absurdly at this grotesque world

 Long before I was introduced to Jeff Buckley’s version
 by my eccentric student in Creative Writing class,
Leonard Cohen’s voice
Had already been a wistful reminiscence.

Ten times repeating his lyrics
Twelve times or more:
“Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah”

I am cold
Am I cold?

The clock is ticking
I hear an inaudible whisper

The room is dark
Although the light is on
A car passes by
Lake Michigan roars in distance

Does Jeff Buckley’s death,
In Mississippi River
Remind me of love?

A branch of a Linden tree is broken
It’s bizarre looking at its fallen arm
And the blue of Lake Michigan!
I should call “S”
I should sing Hallelujah with him
In the streets of Chicago
While he would jokingly say:
“When I die, engrave on my gravestone: it’s all yours!”
We should laugh gaily
While driving carelessly
In the streets of Chicago

By Ezzat Goushegir
December 2, 2012 

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