Writing about Lebanon carries a different resonance — a new voice I didn’t know lived within me.
What can I write about a pain that hurts me?
How can I write about a homeland that beats in my heart?
And where and when can I write, when longing has consumed me?
Here is Beirut awakening once again to the symphony of blood.
Here it prepares to wear the shawl of ashes, like a grieving mother embracing her children with what warmth remains.
We grew up without realizing how much our disappointments had grown.
We grew old with the passing days, and the swings of peace that once played with our forgotten childhood faded away.
Our beloved Beirut, our great Lebanon!
How can your might wipe away the injustice of weary days?
How can the culture of the written word scatter nothingness over the culture of war?
Be certain: Beirut will awaken tomorrow to hymns of love and songs of dreams.
It will be perfumed with the blossoms of hope, adorned in the cloak of peace.
It will return as a city reborn like the phoenix from its ashes.
To you, Beirut, I say—
For you, Lebanon, we chant:
We will keep writing you as love,
And recite you as a daily prayer in our hearts.
And even if the roads grow narrow before us,
You will remain, Lebanon, our eternal path.
You will remain our final destination.
