Tuesday, January 23rd, 2007
Dark is the sky above and darker still the ground,
Where rising columns swirl and spread their smoke around.
Toxic gases fill the air taking poison far and wide,
A wall of blackness, hiding all, blocks the view on every side.
For in the morning early, before the reddening fires,
Dark figures toil to stoke the blaze by adding on more tires.
Old crocks and rubber burn together, giving off foul fumes,
Nature gasps and humans choke and pollution all consumes.
The ashes glow, the odors grow, the air is all tormented,
For people fear, both far and near, a plot has long fermented.
The fires across the highways broad are like a beating drum,
An omen of the future that warns of things to come.
But in the cold of January, that follows on December’s,
Frozen hands are snuggly warmed, held o’er the burning embers.
The fire fanned by anger is made fiercer by the gale,
A scene of some Inferno that Dante should detail.
I love the glowing light that comes from burning grate,
But one that harms our riches is something that I hate.
I am the child of light, the gift of heaven’s sun,
And ‘tis Satan who spreads hate and the fire from the gun.
Sorrow, rancor, fear prevail, and now this vast pollution,
We are living under threat and waiting for solution.
Cain it is who threatens, wants to kill his brother near,
Forgets they have one father to whom they both are dear.
Evil forces, rancorous forces, those of vile sedition;
There are forces patriotic and there are those that seek partition.
This was a day of sadness when pollution came so dire,
And dialogue was bitter, made of burning tar and tire.
At dawn the sun rose fearfully and peeped with timid eye
Hid behind a sickening cloud, ‘twas all he could espy.
No more one saw o’er Lebanon a sky of azure blue.
My heart was full of grief and sorrow pierced me through.
Land of mighty cedars, land of gods with glory crowned,
Bitter warring parties have shed blood upon your ground.
Land of many saints, from where the alphabet once spread,
Land of love and welcome, where head and heart are wed.
Tyre Queen of all the Oceans, who taught the sailor’s lore,
Byblos of the Bible, and Sidon bold in war,
Who, alone, fought Darius who from Persia came in arms,
Then Tripoli three cities united with their charms.
Cana of the miracle of water turned to wine,
Baalbek City of the Sun, in a land of wheat and vine.
Beirut the crowning city, long teaching law and right,
Standing on the waters, a beacon giving light.
All values here were born to end all lawless night,
For this land respects the person who stands on his own feet,
So talk not I of doctrines that have no solid seat.
I hate to see the ruin and common folk oppressed,
Martyred, wounded, victims all of partisans obsessed.
When dialogue is cast aside and common sense rejected,
One thing is sure and ever more, the worst can be expected.
Wednesday 24th, still January 2007
We sit upon a powder keg and we know the least alarm
Will cause more violence and will break the seeming outward calm.
Thursday, January 25th, 2007
A morning calm, serene, that brings promise of the spring,
But people go their way fearing what the day will bring.
The violence comes with greater force just as the day declines,
In Beirut West wild youths contest for other men’s designs.
Once again the smoke obscures the beauty of the day,
The cudgels strike and bullets crack, adding horror to the fray.
The wounded bleed, the martyrs fall, the time is one of gloom,
For once again the guns we hear, and battles fierce resume.
What the future? What tomorrow? What do the plotters hide?
Why do they hate sweet Lebanon and its people crucified?
13th February, 2007 St. Valentine’s Eve
This Tuesday thirteenth, this eve of feast of great renown,
I walked home to work, as I came from Byblos town.
Then I heard dreadful news of a saddening sick’ning crime,
Explosions in two buses both coming at one time
On this February day, eve of the feast of love!
St. Valentine, we beg you and now implore your aid.
To die for love, to offer self, it was sublime ideal,
An intimate festival, one that each heart can feel,
Offerings heart-felt with a sweet and blushing rose
That turns into poetry our workaday prose.
Day of hope and of love, of friendship and of fun
When Valentine gives promises of great things yet to come,
A day of rejoicing and of promise exchanged,
Of flow’r-scented evenings and meetings half-arranged,
Young people enraptured and carried away
By promptings of love that is having its say.
But now not love it brings but a greater shame
At Ain Alaq, Fount of Leeches is its name,
On slopes of a mountain with head uprising proud,
Where avenues and villas and gardens all abound,
Like eyries of eagles aloft ‘twixt earth and sky,
An Eden of rich verdure delighting every eye.
The sun’s glowing orb warms it through the day
And the night is aglow with the wheeling Milky Way,
All redolent of prayer, of friendship’s open arms,
Steps up to Paradise with music’s holy charms.
Then suddenly the feast is one of blood and crime,
A joy for men of evil, for as the sun began to climb,
Satan he was there seeking blood with which to paint
The soil of loving Lebanon and give it alien taint.
Those who were still living surveyed the ghastly scene
Gazing at the carnage where they had shortly been.
The wounded and the dead, burnt and lost all form,
The shreds of human flesh from the bodies torn.
So the devil is amongst us carrying on his evil work,
With henchmen come from hell who will nothing shirk.
His schemes are all of murder and destruction to renew,
From the blood of the innocent he makes a direful brew.
Is this another Guernica, another Stalingrad,
With children little victims of a world that’s going mad?
Workers, students, children, they were on their way
To office, school or studies as they always did each day,
In the magic morn, fresh touched by nature’s wand,
Looking to the moment or dreaming far beyond
Of some utopian future that pleased with idle thought,
When hurled out on the ground with violent report.
Sad destiny, this Valentine, when a raging fate
Comes replacing love and fills the world with hate.
These killers who are mad for human blood and gore,
Have they one grain of conscience or God that they adore?
Our Mountain standing firm after centuries have passed
Will give not way to terror as long as time shall last.
Children of my country, resist for you are brave,
Our land is lit by courage from the summits to the wave;
Strong we stand together, as always we have fought,
And, by the love we show, their plans will come to nought.
French by Joseph Matar – Translation: K.J. Mortimer
