Á mon Beyrouth…
When you weep, I weep,
when you are in pain, I am in pain,
when you bleed, I bleed,
when you are sold, I am sold,
when you are raped, I am raped,
when you are killed, I am killed,
when you are reborn, I am reborn,
when you scream in silence, I am helpless,
when I am broken, you are there,
when you are a child, I am your mother,
when you are a mother, I am your child,
my pain… my joy… my tears… my laugh… my words… my heart… my soul… my Beirut
when you are angry, I feel strong.
but you are not angry
you cannot be angry
you are the home of love, of art,
you are like the sweet maiden who believes in the good of others
like the kind Samaritan who gives his soul to everyone else
you are the friend of the beggar, the shoe polisher, the homeless, and the refugee
you are the friend of the dishonest, the corrupt, the extravagant, and the bloodthirsty
you are the friend of the intellectual, the healer, the artist, the actor,
you forgive your plunderers, your rapists, your sellers,
you forgive all, you love all, and you give all
you are a friend of the sea.
the sea knows your secret, your past, your future.
the sea knows your rage for only it can behold your rage,
the rage that simmers underneath your layers of calm,
like the silence of the sea’s currents in spring.
which none can behold
but the sea.
behold the day when we feel your anger,
that will be beyond mere destruction,
behold the day when we ask for forgiveness,
and you have none left to give,
behold the day we ask for love,
and you have swept aside,
behold the day we ask for safety,
until we see that we have destroyed your walls.
if only Beirut could speak.