How fragile is the human life

when a mild fever breaks your system down.

Happy independence day, My Lebanon

It’s good to know that you’re finally free
So good to know that you’re not enslaved
To consumerism nor commercialism
It’s good to know you still care for the human spirit
Good to know that lives are respected and Rights are defended

It’s good to know that after years of war
We can finally say that terrorism is no more
You must be proud to see your children
Gathered under one roof, Your roof..
And not scattered across the world
Seeing them share their wealth with each other,
I can imagine how proud you must be,
To know that your children adopted the “less is more” philosophy
Being content with what they need and helping others to achieve their dreams
I’m sure you’re delighted to know that inflation is still under control
Knowing that poverty was annihilated and hunger is a thing from the past

Well, I know you have many people waiting in line to shake your hand and to congratulate you,
I wouldn’t wanna keep you from your many admirers, but I need you to know; that even though I’d defend your sovereignty to my death, I still pray for the true independence, your Cultural Independence, My Lebanon.

My name is Beyrouth

The last leaf on my tree swung to the ground. As I walked by, watching its fall, watching its slow painful descent to the wet, muddy ground, I felt the wind taking its revenge with the aggression of a thousand men.

How can a leaf war with the wind? It surrenders. In its infinite wisdom, it forsakes Freedom and lays down its arms.

As I walk along the path, where roses bloomed and mocking birds once sang; I feel estranged, saddened to touch the rugged ends of torn roots and to see the withered smiles of what once was Pure Bliss…

The sky darkens as Sunshine bids its farewell, stroking its fiery colors onto the tears of Heaven below;
Caressing my skin with its warm embrace, whispering into my soul a promise, the promise of another day, someday…

As the last ray of light strolled away in its majestic might, Darkness awoke to proclaim its throne; with its wrath, Mist arose and filled my lungs with its suffocating breath. The wind was getting colder, stronger, more aggressive… but I have my path to follow. I hold on, close my jacket and keep walking.

I know there’s a beautiful lake somewhere; even if I can’t see it. Children playing around, swimming and laughing, I can feel the waterfall on my bare warm skin and I can hear my mocking birds, alive, singing with delight…

I know there’s a beautiful lake somewhere; even if I can’t see it now. But for this winter, I’ll walk my path to my own beat, I’ll hold on tight, close my jacket and just… Keep walking.

My name is Beyrouth.

Do as you're told

Watch your movies,
Follow your series
Buy what you see
On billboards and on TV

Do as you’re told
Earn money to spend
On luxuries you don’t need
Expensive cars, useless gold
3 phones every year

Turn yourself into a machine
Forsake your freedoms
And welcome slavery
Cherish your cards
Your visas are your masters
Accept to put your fingerprints
And DNAs on your IDs and in their database
Go on google latitude, let your friends know where you are
Get on facebook and with complete strangers, share your life

Post your pictures on networking sites
Add your business partners to linkedin
And on my space, share your music and yourself

Watch their movies, get into the circle
Economic slavery, chipped and mounted
Give them what they want, your life for their power
Buy sex, do drugs, eat junk and play video games
PS or wii, anything to keep you on your seat
Eat for comfort, eat cow’s sh*t
Dogs or mice, rats and cats
Processed food with their poisonous toxins

Watch their ads, accept their fears,
Pandemic news, terrorist attacks
Take your vaccines, load your guns
Cure yourself with their medicines from hell
Paint your society in fear
Forsake your family, drink til you drop
Smoking is cool, ecstasy rocks
Do as you’re told, pay to live like a dog


No one cares.
No one will hear you cry
It’s all up to you,
Either you merely Live
Or you choose to be ALIVE.

This is our story, as a human race

This is the story of a boy
A good kid raging out of control
Pressured by his peers
Into a life of drugs, guns and rock n roll

This is her story as well
A cute 9 year old who passed through hell
Kidnapped at age 6, raped beaten and sold
From one pervert to the other
Until her body parted with its soul

This is the story of her mother
A woman living in regret
Nostalgia is an understatement
When your past is always present,
& no more tears are left to shed

This is his story, that old man on the ground
At age 60, he survived 2 sons and a war
And his only earthly possession
Is a card box under the bridge
That he sadly calls ‘Home’

This is my story and it is yours
That boy is your son and the man is your brother
This is our story as a human race
Can we afford to look the other way?

We’re all on the same boat
We all want to improve our lives
Always wanting more…
While ignoring all signs

And it saddens my heart
To say these words
But tonight,
The weight of human misery
is shrouding my world,
and suffocating my soul.

Gratitude to a Land

On this earth we were born
To wander, to dream, to live & roam
Following our senses, challenging Ambition
Chasing Destiny & making it on our own

On this land, our values were set
Where our principles & Lady Freedom had met
Where we grew, proud and strong
Learning to adapt, but knowing where we belong

With this land, we identify
We stand tall and know who we are
We made a nation from a small piece of land
And created a Home from few rocks and sand

With this land, we identify
We take pride and know who we are
We’re Lebanese, from east to west
With Beirut in our hearts & a Cedar across the chest.

Destiny

And blackness awoke
On sirens and drum rolls
Once, twice, thrice the dead
Was brought back to life and fed
This anxiety within, this fear around

Where were you when I needed to be found?


Once, twice, thrice the dead
Was brought back to life
Ignoring all signs, & most of all,
Denying what Destiny had set.

Light

A smile, shining from within
Tickled by a kind word’s might
A gentle soul, soothing the beast
Breaking barriers and calming his fears

It is in complete blackness
That starlight shines the brightest
Through hardship and Darkness
That the heart gives in silence

Laughs and chatter were loose in the air,
on that wall where children once leaned
In their innocence, the world did feel
The Purest kind of Love…

The Rarest Miracle yet to be seen.

Reply to Tony's post

well

Words Hurt Too

A person must be sick to hurt a child.

It’s never the child’s fault and yet most adults, who were abused as children, are oblivious to such a fact; deep down they still blame themselves or justify the abuser...

It’s never the child’s fault… Each and every child is amazing, no matter who he/she is. No matter what they say or do! They're the most precious blessing there is.

A child is supposed to make mistakes, that’s how people grow; but the actual sin is when an adult forgets that children are supposed to blunder, that they’re supposed to be clumsy, they’re supposed to play and laugh.

But how can we tell these amazing children that it’s never their fault?
How can we look them in the eyes and say:

You’ve been through a lot of hardship, God knows how scared you were
God knows how brave you were, back when you were still so weak and fragile
No one has the right to lay a hand on you or make you feel bad or inadequate
You’re beautiful, such a special and amazing human being…

As adults, how can we tell them that the person they hate is not even worthy of such a sentiment
That he was probably abused as a child, that he didn’t know any better
That he is not the devil, he’s not a worthy opponent, just a sad old poor soul who should be seen in his pathetic weakness. That they should fear no one…


How can we look them in the eyes and try to console them,
When, as a society, we did so little to protect them.


Print ads from CERCA, Children and Adolescents Center in Brazil, (Centro de Referencia da Crianca e Adolescente). Reminding us of the impact of words on young people. “Hematoma” e “Sangue” show tiny words, gathered together, appearing on the faces of a boy with a bleeding nose and a girl with a brusied black eye.
The Portuguese words, “Palavras também machucam”, are translated as “Words Hurt Too.

Any kind of violence against children is a crime.
Please help the children and our society by reporting any kind of abuse.

Faire l'impossible pour que la vie..

...vaille le coup d'être vécue.

Leap...

& the net will appear..