My Lebanon

My Lebanon is just like yours.

It lives in my mind, my heart and my spirit.

It lives in my humor and sadness.

It thrives in my family, my friends, my countrymen, my memory.

Lebanon is in the air that I breathe.

It is the moon climbing slowly from behind the hills to crawl into the sky,

shimmering softly on the calm Mediterranean.

It is the sun burning red and orange as it sinks gracefully on the horizon.

It is a row of pine trees along a mountain road and a little

stone house set back in a quiet little village.

My Lebanon is just like yours in the long hot summer days beating

us down to sleep in the shade of the afternoon.

It is in the feasts, lunches and dinners stretched out along long

tables with friends and drink.

It is the heart-thumping rhythm of the Derbakkeh and the whirling dance of the “Tabbleh”.

It is the smoke that curls from the “Argileh” as you sip your

coffee brewed fresh from a boiling pot.

Lebanon is the sheikh in his mansion and the priest in his church.

It is the Muezzin calling Muslims to prayer at dawn the voice ringing through the crisp air.

It is the Church bell tolling loud and clear from the hilltop.

Lebanon is the farmer leading his oxen to plow.

It is the shepherd whistling and calling to his flock and the

stone flung with the aim of a hunter walking beyond him in the valley.

Lebanon is the shahrour and the bilbol singing, the fig tree

lending its fruit and the grapes sweetening your mouth like cold wet honey.

My Lebanon is just like yours and the neighbors who welcome you

into their hearts and their homes.

It is in the old woman sitting cross-legged before her sajj

baking the mouth-watering mankousheh and markouk.

It is the men sitting before the Saraya under a eucalyptus tree

playing “tric trac” each wiser than the next and both content in their rivalry.

It is in Beirut on a busy day with the people walking and the cars honking.

It is in the crowded restaurants and cafes and the beaches.

It is the fun of being alive.

My Lebanon is just like yours when the snow falls on Sannine, Faraya and Bcharre.

It is the white laden branches of the cedars in winter that have stood

before time itself knew of them.

It is the olive tree that was planted by the grand father of my

grandfather and the sindianeh under which he sat and told me.

Lebanon is Fairuz and the songs of the love and dreams of all of us.

It is the stars on a clear autumn night flickering like the

lights of the fishing boats in the bay.

My Lebanon is all of that and more.

It is beyond any enemy and their devices.

It is above any politician and his manipulations.

It is bigger than any scheme or any plot.

My Lebanon is invincible, it is unconquerable and unwavering.

My Lebanon is beyond the traitors and the thieves;

it is beyond the cowards and the knaves.

My Lebanon cannot be bombed nor beaten, nor bowed.

My Lebanon is made of things that cannot be broken, of dreams

that cannot be erased, of passions that cannot be withheld.

My Lebanon is as free as the hawk that flies on a hot summer day

and as tough as the pillars of Baalbek.

My Lebanon is powerful and proud, tolerant and forgiving, beautiful and stern.

My Lebanon is just like yours.


Author's Notes/Comments: 





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